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Forest Folk 





THE LIBRARY OF 
CONORES* 

Two Co*e* ReotivM 

AUG. 28 1901 

_ OOfVHWHT fWTWY 

CtmflLXXa H». 

COPY A. 



Copyright, 1901 
by 

Dodd, Mead and Company 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS I 

II. BY THE FIRESIDE . 14 

III. AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 28 

IV. WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 41 

v. “ don’t laugh ” 53 

VI. THE RIGHT OF WAY 6 1 

VII. A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 7 1 

VIII. AS OTHERS SEE US 84 

IX. THE OLD HORSE 93 

X. HALLELUJAH ! 106 

XI. THE BADGER-BAITING II9 

XII. THE MUSTER I33 

XIII. THE WRONG HOUSE I47 

XIV. LOIS TAKES ACTION 1 62 

XV. GALLOWS HILL 1 76 

XVI. KING V. RIDEOUT 182 

XVII. GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY 193 

XVIII. THE INFORMATION 200 

XIX. THE WARRANT 20 7 

XX. LOIS’S PRISONER 2 l 8 

XXI. HIDE-AND-SEEK 228 

XXII. OUT BY THE WINDOW 237 

XXIII. AN UNQUIET NIGHT 245 

XXIV. A QUIET DAY 25O 

XXV. CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 264 

• » 

XXVI. THE BROKEN DREAM . • 274 


v 


vi CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXVII. NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 285 

XXVIII. TISH MAKES A CALL 299 

xxix. foat’s message 309 

XXX. DEPARTURES 319 

xxxi. vox populi 335 

XXXII. BY ARCHER’S WATER 343 

XXXIII. SPILT MILK 357 

XXXIV. THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 369 

XXXV. THE FULL STOP 380 


Forest Folk 


CHAPTER I 

FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 

It was on a day in the early years of the just defunct 
century; a horseman with some marks of travel upon him 
was riding after a leisurely fashion, which seemed to show 
that his journey was either of no pressing importance or 
was nearing its end, northwards from the county town of 
Nottinghamshire. His way lay through the southern portion 
of Sherwood Forest, which nominally was almost as exten- 
sive as in the reckoning of the Doomsday Book and still 
had its full staff* of officers, the Lord Warden with his 
bow-bearer, ranger and steward, his verdurers, keepers and 
woodwards; but in reality had been sadly despoiled at the 
hand both of enclosure and of illiberal waste. The noble trees 
which a hundred years ago had made a thick unintermittent 
shade from Mansfield to Nottingham had gone and left no 
trace, save here and there a clump of scrubby oak, here and 
there a solitary veteran naked to every wind. Arnold and 
Calverton were being fast brought under cultivation, and 
though much of Bestwood and Papplewick was still barren 
moor, it was not until the traveller left the Mansfield road 
just after the fifth milestone that he came upon a scene of 
unreclaimed wildness. 


1 


2 


FOREST FOLK 


It was a day of an ever-varying greyness, as the days are 
grey in November under a brisk southwest wind, when the 
sun is never quite successful in breaking through the 
clouds, never completely in prison behind them. Snow 
had fallen the day before, rain in the night ; there were re- 
minders of both in the dull glimmer of the wayside puddles, 
in the narrow strips of white by hedge and bank, under fur- 
row and bush, or occasionally in larger patches on the sun- 
less side of a hill. The afternoon of such a day did not 
show such a country to the best advantage; an undulating 
expanse covered as far as the eye could reach with green 
gorse, brown bracken, grey ling. A horseman’s cursory 
glance would hardly be caught by the scanty gleam of yel- 
low amid the gorse, which true to the proverb that it goes 
out of bloom only when kissing goes out of fashion, showed 
here and there the peep of a warmer colour between its 
sombre spikes. There was no shelter anywhere from the 
keenness of the wind. The fallow deer, which when the then 
old men were young had browsed the sward in large herds, 
were gone, as the trees under which they had harboured were 
gone. But there were plenty of rabbits. 

The occasional little movements of the traveller’s shoul- 
ders under the cape of his great-coat may have been shiver 
as much as shrug, but there could be no mistaking the dis- 
approbation of the quick critical glances which he cast 
about him. Probably he was comparing the outlook with 
more genial scenery which he had lately quitted; a country 
possibly of better roads for one thing. The road he was 
then following was much like a sheep-trail, being nothing 
more than a trodden track, sometimes sandy, sometimes 
grassy, winding between gorse and gorse. He began to 
fear that he had missed his way. There was no house in 
sight, no wayfarer on the road, no shepherd on the hills, 
no sound of labour ; only the whistle of the wind and the 


FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 


3 


wail of the never-resting peewheep. He was the better 
pleased therefore, when he had ridden thus some three or 
four miles, to see before him a carrier’s van travelling in 
the same direction as himself. He put his horse to a 
quicker motion in order that he might overtake it and make 
inquiry of the driver. But when he was yet some thirty 
yards distant suddenly half a dozen fellows rudely masked 
with black, two or three of them having pistols in their 
hands and one a blacksmith’s sledge-hammer, jumped out 
of the bushes and surrounded the van. The horseman 
hastily pulled up, astonished at what had every appearance 
of being an act of highway robbery. 

There was no loss of time. One pair of hands stopped 
the carrier’s horse, another pair dragged the carrier himself 
down from his seat, while two or three of the ruffians 
jumped in back and front and forthwith began to pitch the 
contents of the cart out into the road ; some heavy sort of 
hardware they appeared to be, parts of machinery or the 
like. But the men’s purpose, it seemed, was destructive 
rather than thievish, for as each article fell with steely glit- 
ter to the ground, the man with the sledge-hammer smote 
it to shivers. The rider particularly noticed that man, the 
man indeed was particularly noticeable ; a tall lithe fellow 
with hair red or reddish, of a frame magnificently propor- 
tioned and to judge by the ease with which he did his de- 
structive work of remarkable strength. The driver stood 
by, apparently more chagrined than surprised. So far as 
could be heard not a word was uttered either by him or his 
despoilers. 

But presently the latter appeared to remark and resent 
the presence of an onlooker. A couple of them made to- 
wards him armed with pistols ; townsmen they looked like, 
of the artisan sort, in ragged cloth coats and greasy breeches. 
Evidently the horseman thought it more prudent not to 


4 


FOREST FOLK 


await their coming, for he turned about and galloped off. 
But as soon as he was fairly out of pistol-shot he again 
reigned in and looked back. The two men stood watching 
him, and with threatening wafts of the hand seemed to be 
bidding him continue his retreat. He did so, and soon a 
dip in the road hid them completely from his view. 

What should he do ? The day was on the wane, the 
country was unknown to him, there was nobody to ques- 
tion. He did the best he could, he continued his back- 
ward course until the road divided, and then turned off 
down a sandy trail, on his right hand as it happened. Again 
and again he turned — tracks were plentiful, of sheep or 
men — hoping by so doing to recover his former direction ; 
but there was still the gorse upon every hand and never a 
sign of a house. Many a time he spoke ill of a country 
which had neither road nor inhabitant, nor anywhere a 
friendly finger-post for the information of belated travellers. 

At length he came where a rain-swollen brook crossed 
his path. On his right its waters were held up by a dam, 
and widened out into a marshy pool bordered by willows 
and overgrown with rush, sedge and persicaria, the haunt of 
waterfowl. The opposite bank was for a short distance at 
any rate impracticable, being the almost precipitous termi- 
nation of a low spur from the more considerable hills be- 
yond. His way being thus indicated for him he pulled his 
left rein, gave his back to what there was of the sun, and fol- 
lowed the stream’s course. After a while he saw straight 
before him a curl of smoke and a roof ; the roof low* and 
humbly thatched, the smoke issuing from a single dilapidated 
chimney, but both a welcome sight in such a wilderness. 
At his approach he found it to be a wayside alehouse of the 
meanest, a one-storied w mud and stud ” erection, situated 
at the crossing of two ways somewhat better marked than 
those he had for the last hour been finding and losing. 


FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 


5 


A man was coming out of the door as he drew up to it, 
a man of the town artisan sort, in clothes much worn and 
begrimed with swarth. He did not carry a pistol nor wear 
crape on his nose, yet the rider immediately bethought him- 
self of the lawless gang who had driven him from the road. 
But the man seeing him had at once drawn back into the 
house. The stranger did not like the look of the house any 
the better for the sample offered him of the company it 
held \ but while he hesitated between calling for the host 
and passing on, another man came to the door, a sturdy 
thick-necked, low-browed, burglarious-looking fellow. If 
he were the host, he had nothing of the host about him but 
his dirty white jacket and his red nose. 

u How far am I from Blidworth, pray ? ” asked the horse- 
man. 

The man seemed disinclined to answer at all, but after a 
look and a pause said surlily : 

u I’m i’ Blid’orth, yo’re i’ Cauverton ; an’ if yo want 
ayther Farnsfield or Oxton, they’re the t’other side the 
road.” 

M Thank you. And which is the way to the village of 
Blidworth ? I presume there is more village than this.” 

The man uncrooked a surly grimy reluctant finger and 
pointed ; the horseman again thanked him and rode away. 
But he had not gone twenty yards before he heard a loud 
voice behind him, another voice : 

w Tek the first turn to the raight.” 

He looked quickly round, and even as he looked what he 
saw in the doorway of the inn vanished from it ; the tall 
youthful figure of a man finely formed and crowned with 
long red or reddish hair. He was almost sure he had seen 
it before ; there wanted but a sledge-hammer and a bit of 
crape to complete his recognition. He put his horse to the 
quick trot, willing to change his neighbourhood as soon as 


6 


FOREST FOLK 


might be. In five minutes he came where an ill-defined 
track crossed that which he was pursuing. He doubted 
whether he should go by the innkeeper’s finger or the cor- 
rection of the younger man; but the view to his right on 
the top of a straight-chined hill, perhaps two or three miles 
away, of a church and a mill standing out with grey in- 
distinctness from the cloudy horizon determined him; he 
turned to the right up a sandy rise. On either side of him 
the gorse and heather had recently been fired. Their charred 
remains and grey sodden ashes made a sorry contrast with 
the snow that glimmered in the hollows. After that there 
was a stretch of land from which the gorse-roots had been 
grubbed and part of it brought under the plough. Then 
where the descent began there were fences, crops of turnips, 
winter tares, potatoes and peeping wheat ; and down in the 
hollow a farmhouse, or it might be two adjacent cottages 
of different altitudes, the higher thatched, the lower tiled. 
The horseman rode down towards the house, but as he was 
about to pass through a field-gate leading thereto, he saw 
on the other side of the way a plough-boy turning his team 
of three near the hedge. He was partly obscured by the 
smoke which issued from a row of burning heaps in the 
adjacent enclosure, and swept over ridge and furrow at the 
wildly capricious pleasure of the wind ; sometimes like a 
thick scudding mist barely a man’s height above the ground, 
or rarified to a diaphanous veil ever shifting, ever varying. 
As the horseman was about to address the plough-boy there 
was a momentary lull, the smoke rose straight into the air, 
the field was clear before him ; he could see the scarlet 
glow of some of the heaps, the brown smouldering of 
others, and the labourer plodding to and fro tending them. 
Beyond which there was an inconsiderable breadth of 
plough-land, then moor until it touched the November sky 
persistently, varyingly grey. The plough-boy had turned 


FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 


7 


his team on the headland, and now stood resting on the 
hales and looking at him ; the stripling who acted as driver 
but just indicated by the projection of a long whip over 
the back of the leader. 

44 Is that Blidworth yonder ? ” asked the horseman. 

44 Eh ? Blid’orth ? Ah, yon’s Blid’orth,” answered the 
plough-boy. 

44 Thank Heaven for that ! ” said the horseman heartily. 

The lull was brief, the wind boisterously renewed its 
sport, the fires crackled and roared or smoked and smould- 
ered ; the air was filled with the puther. The plough-boy, 
leaving his plough, came to the hedge-side and fixed a pair 
of remarkable grey eyes upon his questioner. 

44 Yo’re from somewheer up’ards, I reckon? ” he shouted 
in shrill competition with the wind. 

The rider did not understand or did not choose to an- 
swer, but pointing to the building on the other side of the 
road said : 

44 What may the name of that house be ? ” 

44 My question’s as good as yourn, / reckon,” said the 
plough-boy. 

There was a certain shrill unusualness in the plough- 
boy’s style of address ; the rider did not ride on, as one 
might have expected ; he was pleased for the moment to 
amuse himself. 

u Somewhere upwards ? I don’t quite know — I know 
what c uppishness ’ means. Perhaps ” 

“Let it stan’ at that,” said the plough-boy with unex- 
pected promptitude. Apparently he was willing to take 
his own question as answered, for he continued : 

u It’s the Low Farmhouse, that is.” 

u The Low Farmhouse ? And I am in search of the 
High Farm. Can you direct me ? ” 

The plough-boy pointed out a conspicuous white house 


8 


FOREST FOLK 


about half a mile off, on the crown of a slope which rose 
behind the Low Farmhouse. 

“ And how shall I best get there ? ” 

“Turn to the raight when yo get to the Bottoms.” The 
plough-boy pointed to a little cluster of houses at the foot 
of Blidworth Hill. “From theer yo may cross the fields ; 
as straight as yo like; it’s their own land. Mebbe yo’re 
the new man at High Farm ? ” 

But the horseman’s complaisance was exhausted ; he 
made no answer; with a jerk of the reins he put his steed 
to a walk. Just at that moment — his careless eyes were 
still on the plough-boy — a sudden gust blew the boy’s hat 
off* ; boy’s hat or man’s, but immediately there fell about 
its wearer’s shoulders such a mass of fine long hair as only 
women are permitted to display, lustrous waves of that elo- 
quent hue which is nearest to red but not red. Where- 
upon the rider also saw through the smoke and the hedge 
what had escaped him before, a short breadth of womanish 
skirt between the hem of the old blue smock-frock and the 
drab cloth gaiters. Whether it were out of curiosity or a 
larger courtesy, he again reined his horse in and made 
answer : 

“ I have come to walk over the farm.” 

The woman in plough-boy’s guise let her hat lie, and 
holding back her wind-blown hair with both hands looked 
him over as though she began to take an interest in him. 
She saw a quick-eyed, well-dressed young man, rather 
slightly made but remarkably vigorous and alert-looking. 
He was clean-shaven but for the small close whiskers half 
down the cheek, and his dark brown hair was neatly tied 
up in a club that hung below the nape of his neck. He 
appeared to be about twenty-five years of age, and was 
mounted on an excellent roadster. His broad-brimmed hat, 
his long-skirted riding-coat and cape, his top-boots and 


FROM SOMEWHERE UPARDS 


9 


chamois-leather gloves, his silver-mounted whip and spurs, 
all in good unpretentious style, gave him the appearance of 
a man of considerable taste and means j if a farmer, cer- 
tainly one of the bettermost, fit to rank next to the squire 
himself. Did her scrutiny take in so small a feature as his 
nose, she would perceive it to be slightly finely aquiline. 

He returned her direct gaze so candidly resolute with a 
glance which was amused rather than interested, of which 
indeed the most noticeable quality was perhaps an air of 
careless superiority. And yet even to criticism so negli- 
gent as his it seemed strange that such a face should be 
associated with a labourer’s threadbare frock, none too 
clean, a labourer’s shoes and gaiters all patched and mired, 
a labourer’s old leathern gloves. The labourer’s hat lay under 
the hedge whither the wind had blown it. He noticed the 
broad brow with a scattering of freckles about the temples, 
the healthy weather-tanned cheeks, the lips of glowing red, 
the largish mouth, the straight nose, the stature above the 
mean, and with equal accuracy and coolness how the wind 
brought the smell of the burning heaps and a few flakes of 
whitey ash. 

“That’s a middling hoss of yourn ; what price do yer 
put upon him ? ” 

She spoke as self-collectedly as though she had been all 
the time examining the animal and not his master. 

u He is not for sale,” answered the latter rather stiffly. 

“ Well, he’s nubbut a hack when all’s said and 
done.” 

The sun must have forced a rift in the clouds, for over 
her head he distinctly saw the under-wings of a flock of 
peewheeps flash white as they wheeled and wheeled again 
in elaborate manoeuvre, flash like a thousand little mirrors 
set to catch the sun. But its rays did not directly strike the 
ground ; the disconsolate snow by the hedge showed bluely 


10 


FOREST FOLK 


grey in the waning light. Again he was starting as she 
called shrilly after him : 

“Well, I hope yo’ll be easier to get on wi’ nor he 
was.” 

The rider again stayed his horse, though there seemed 
little or no reason for his so doing, and fixed his dark eyes 
keenly upon her. 

“ Why,” he asked, u do you express such a hope ? ” 
u Becos we’re none so easy to get on wi’ oursens, so we 
look to hae extry good neighbours.” 

w In what respect did you find the late tenant not easy 
to get on with ? ” 

w In respect of a gate, first and foremost.” 
w In respect of gates probably I shall do as he did.” 
w Then probably we shall do as we did.” 
u What was that ? ” 
w Smash ’em.” 

His dark fiery eye threw a menace forth. 
u Madam, I beg leave to hope you won’t.” 

He raised his hat, but when he seemed to be going for 
the fifth or sixth time, yet he did not go. Perhaps there 
was the not unmanly dislike to leaving a woman with a 
threat upon his face. He pointed with his whip to the 
springing wheat on the other side of the road, among which 
intrusive beans were thickly showing. 

“ If that’s your wheat, I see your beans shelled a good 
deal this year.” 

Which apparently she resented more than cause was. 
u Mebbe yourn don’t on light land i’ dry seasons.” 

There seemed nothing then to stay his going in reality ; 
but on the sudden as it appeared to him, for his perception 
of it was sudden, the part of the sky furthest from the sun 
was lit up with a glare which loaded the atmosphere with 
an eye-troubling ruddiness. The smouldering heaps of rub- 


FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 


ii 


bish on the headland smoked purple ; the restless peewheeps 
still circling in the sky flashed red instead of white; the 
wan snow in the furrows put on a blush. But even while 
he looked on this and that a flood of crimson glory poured 
through the break in the clouds, growing and growing, as 
overflows do once the little rift is made, until the whole 
west was ablaze with orange, purple and violet. Clouds 
might have been inflammable, and the torch of the sun a 
near danger. The slant splendour slid down to the cold 
earth and rested on it. 

The woman had stepped aside to where her hat lay in 
the ditch, and there she stood gathering the abundance of 
her hair into a loose coil. The smoke was round and 
about her like a cloud, but a rose-tinted luminous cloud, 
sky-born, ever-changing into new beauty. Where it was 
thicker there was the more colour, and where rarer the 
more light. And she herself had suffered equal transmu- 
tation. The smock frock no longer looked sordid, the 
leathern gloves uncouth ; but the face ! Surely it was not 
the same face which he had examined a moment before 
with the coolest negligence. The freckles and the tan 
had disappeared. A carmine radiance seemed to issue from 
the fine curves of her thin cheeks ; but it burned among 
her hair, which was now red of reds ; flames ran along the 
silky threads of its twisted tangles. Either ear was a hang- 
ing transparency, flame-tinctured ; and behind her surged, 
ever lessening and increasing, the billows of smoke, from 
palest rose to darkest purple. Out of such a sea, perhaps, 
Tyrian dyed but with the effulgence of her own body, 
Aphrodite first uprose between Cyprus and Cythera; and 
the air shuddered with a red gladness. But this was no 
Aphrodite. Her eyes were unchanged, grey and grave. 

From her different point of view she evidently did not 
see in the man the miraculous alteration which he saw in 


12 


FOREST FOLK 


her. His wondering gaze amused her for a little while, 
then perplexed her, incensed her. At last she cried out : 

u Yo mean to know me when yo see me again.” 

He awoke ; but as a man awakes suddenly ; the sleep 
has left his eyes, but not his brain. He muttered a con- 
fused word of apology, he turned his horse and rode slowly 
away. 

As he rode, the short-lived magnificence died out. The 
wind dropped. Grey became the sky again, grey the air; 
the earth and the snow were mere differences in greyness. 
The smoke rose straight up, merely brown. He was 
ashamed of his late enchantment ; he was minded to ride 
back and disabuse his mind, make sure of the freckles 
about the temples, the wind-beaten skin, the sordid apparel. 
He had pulled the off-rein and half turned before he was 
fully aware of his folly. Besides her eyes would have been 
unchanged, gravely greyly fixed upon him. Across the field 
her voice was blown shrilly to him, as she shouted to her 
driver and her horses : 

u Auve, auve a bit! Steady, Tidy! Whitefoot, yo 
sloomy ! ” 

He put spurs to his horse and galloped off in his proper 
direction. Only for a minute however, for as he reached 
the turn in the road and the little cluster of houses which 
she had called the Bottoms, a child ran across before him, 
and obliged him to rein up hard. The child, a sturdy boy, 
did not seem in the least concerned either by his danger 
or his escape; he had been calling an old woman who stood 
at the door of one of the cottages, and he continued to call 
her. 

“ Witch ! ” he cried with the insolence of a safe distance, 
“ Witch ! Wheer’s yer broom-stick ? Len’s it ; I should 
like a ride on’t.” 

He approached her and chucked a stone after his words. 


FROM SOMEWHERE UP’ARDS 


*3 

But when she turned her almost sightless eyes upon him 
he fled back; only however to renew his verbal insults. 

w Witch ! Witch ! Len’s yer broom-stick, witch ! Do, 
witch ! ” 

An old old woman leaning palsy-shaken on a crutched 
stick, with snow-white hair, snow-white eyebrows and 
lashes, snow-white moustache, and a crop of snow-white 
bristles on her chin. Of a strange whiteness too was the 
wrinkled skin, both of cheek and of the trembling hand 
which she held up to shield her eyes, as though even that 
grey waning light were too much for them. She looked 
towards the horseman, wagging her head, but whether her 
attention were directed by sight or hearing was doubtful. 

u Witch, witch ! ” cried the urchin. u Who killed Mor- 
ley’s blue cow ? Gie’s yer mop-stale, I want a ride on’t.” 

But a sickly-looking woman issuing from a cottage on 
his own side of the road came round the corner, took him 
by the shoulders and soundly berated and cuffed him. 

“ Yo little rascad ! ” she said. w I’ll gie yer a bensaling 
the next time, see if I don’t. If she be a witch, yer soft 
sawny, the more reason to speak ’er fair. What’s other 
folks’s cows an’ coughs to huz ? On’y do’t again, on’y do ! ” 
Amid which confusion of blows, abuse and promise, both 
disappeared within-doors. The old woman dropped her 
quaking hand and tottered into her own house. The horse- 
man rode through the fields towards the High Farm, as he 
had been directed. Dimmer grew the light ; the patches 
of grey snow looked colder than the white had done. 
Down across the valley, three-quarters of a mile off, he 
could still descry the burning heaps, the smoke, the plough 
and its team, she who directed them appearing just such a 
crawling earthly animal as they. But in his thought there 
would needs be yet some ray of that fugitive glory about 
her plain semblance. 


CHAPTER II 


BY THE FIRESIDE 

Meanwhile the young woman continued following the 
plough until she had turned a couple of furrows more ; then 
she left the driver to unhook Tidy, Whitefoot and their 
unnamed comrade from the clivvers, and herself strode be- 
fore them to the small irregular building which we have 
already heard named as the Low Farmhouse. She entered 
by the gate, stood in the yard and holloaed, “ Tant, Tant ! ” 
As soon as she raised her voice dogs began to bark, pigs to 
squeal, calves to blawt, horses to whinny ; but there was no 
other answer. It was dusk and the promised rain had be- 
gun to fall. Thrice she holloaed, “ Tant, Tant ! ” but as it 
seemed without any heart in her calling ; then a woman 
opened the house-door and answered her with loud harsh 
voice : 

u Yo nedn’t call him. And Lambert’s gone home wi’ 
his gethered hand bad. And Spettigew hain’t coom back 
yet from the ship. I’ve milked the cows an* suppered the 
fat beast mysen.” 

Again the door was shut ; the only cheerful thing to be 
seen was the glimmer of a candle through the window next 
the door. The plough-horses came in before their driver, 
and with heavy clumsy foot blundered into their proper 
stalls. The young woman went into the house, brought 
thence a lighted lantern, set the boy Dick to look after the 
pigs, and herself proceeded to the stable. From the farthest 
end of the long dark shed came a gentle whinnying. 

u Bide a bit, sweetheart/’ she said with a glance thither- 
14 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


15 


wards and a remarkable softening of the voice. “ Labour- 
ing folk moot be sarved ; the quallity can wait.” 

At those words a greyhound came dancing delicately 
down out of the greater into the less obscurity, and offered 
herself to attention, a beautiful fawn-coloured bitch. She 
received a kindly smoothing of the silk-clad skin between 
her ears, and then a “ There, lass, there ! ” 

The hound with cold nose uplifted to warm hand seemed 
to protest against the brevity of the caress. 

M Down, Treasure, down ! I’m throng to-night.” 

There was something of sternness in the tone. The 
bitch immediately desisted, and with dainty deliberation 
tripped back over the rough stones into the dark. The 
woman set before each of her rough-haired thick-steaming 
fellow-labourers two or three carrots and a moderate allow- 
ance of chaff, which they munched while she carefully 
rubbed them down. That done she went up to the inner- 
most partition, where an old hunter was stalled. The grey- 
hound lay under his manger. 

u Yo were a good oad Hasty,” she said stroking the 
horse’s fine glossy brown coat, “ to let me tend to the com- 
moners first. I mun hae come, yo know, if yo’d stood on 
your raights.” 

The old horse twisted his lithe thin neck, put his fine 
muzzle over her shoulder, and with a low deep quavering 
from the bottom of his chest grunted his contentment. 

She had given the calves their hay and carrots when 
Spettigew came from the sheep ; two of the hogs had been 
missing from his count, and he had been long in finding 
them. She left the watering and suppering up of the 
horses to him and went into the house. The blazing coal 
fire and the light were a pleasant change from the wet and 
darkness of without, though the light was but from one 
home-made tallow dip on the round central table. 


i6 


FOREST FOLK 


“ It’s raining,” she said, and that seemed to express her 
satisfaction at the change. 

w He's none getting wet,” said crustily enough the woman 
who had spoken to her from the door. 

The latter was perhaps some thirty years old, stout and 
tall and sufficiently like the other in feature and complexion 
to suggest sisterhood. Her red hair was partly hidden by 
a white cap with a purple ribbon ; she had a blue kerchief 
pinned about her ample breast, but her neck was bare. 
Bare too were her strong red arms from where the sleeves 
of her dark-brown linsey-woolsey gown ceased at the el- 
bow. She was bustling to and fro, white-aproned, laying 
the table for supper, like a woman who has much upon her 
hands. Not another word was said. The newcomer put 
off her damp soiled outer garments and then in her new 
slimness appeared much younger than before, being evi- 
dently but on the threshold of womanhood. Above her 
short light-red petticoat she wore in place of bodice a long- 
sleeved snuff-coloured jacket, gathered at her waist with a 
leathern belt. She changed her miry foot-gear for shoes of 
a more feminine fashion, and then went straight to the fire 
which burnt in a huge outstanding chimney-nook, which 
took up nearly the whole of that side of the room. She 
sat down on the floor, stretched her legs across the hearth 
in front of the generous blaze, and leant her head back 
against the petticoats of an old woman who sat in an an- 
cient armchair in the warmest corner. 

Hitherto the old woman had sat stroking her knees 
with her eyes fixed on the opposite wall of the chim- 
ney, and apparently giving little heed to what was going 
on. Now however she passed an age-blemished hand 
gently over the girl’s locks, and said in an old woman’s 
croak : 

“ How comes tha hair to be so wet, child ? ” 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


l 7 

tc I’ve been to the Bottoms to see great-granmam.” 
w Are ta wetchud 1 too ? ” 
u No, granmam; I’ve shifted my shoes.” 
u That’s raight. Let foot be warm an’ head cool.” 

“ I will, granmam.” 

One of the grandmother’s hands lingered among the 
girl’s tresses, with the other she renewed the stroking of the 
knee nearer the fire. She kept her eyes fixed on the oppo- 
site wall of the chimney and said no more. At her elbow 
stood an ancient spinning-wheel. The girl lay in the 
languor of weariness along the hearth, and let the fire do 
as it would with her. One of her legs was so near to it 
that the heat stung her through the blue worsted stocking, 
but she was too inert to withdraw it ever so little. The 
blaze shone full on her face until it was scorched to the 
colour of a peony ; she blinked her eyes lazily and let it 
scorch. The dim candle had no influence within the chim- 
ney, where the colours taken, the shadows cast with vary- 
ing differences were of the fire’s gift. It lighted with its 
capricious illumination what it would of the beldame’s long 
skinny neck and rigid head, stiffly outstanding from the 
skimpy black gown, of the eyes ever fixed on the opposite 
wall and of the hand that stroked the knee. It flamed in 
the girl’s hair turning the part most exposed to it to the 
reddest gold ; what lay in the shade was the obscurest of 
autumnal browns. It deepened, if it did not create, the 
languorous lustre of her large grey eyes. It lavished of its 
own warm colouring on the many folds, creases and crinkles 
of her old red petticoat. One of her knees was slightly 
bent, and the long deep furrow thus made adown the skirt 
was as a narrow pool filled almost to the brim with a dusky 
fluid, uncertain, gleamless, like dead blood. Far up the 
chimney a sooty cavity was displayed, whence came strange 
1 Wet-shod. 


18 FOREST FOLK 

roarings and rumblings, soamings and moanings as the wind 
came and went. 

But beyond the fitful fringes of the fire’s red predomi- 
nance the colder, hardly more certain light of the tallow 
dip shared a wavering victory with the shadows, whose flit- 
ting unranked troops, routed though they were from the 
whit extent of the table-cloth, still disputed every inch of 
the well-sanded red-brick floor and of the whitewashed 
walls which bounded it; while all the nooks and corners 
and especially the timbers of the open ceiling they pos- 
sessed undisturbed. Still the light, such as it was, served 
here to reveal, there to suggest the homely details of an 
apartment which was living-room, kitchen and scullery of 
farming folk of the humbler sort; many-doored, draughty, 
sparely furnished, but scrupulously clean. The heaped fire 
and the table spread with coarse plenty upon a clean cloth 
gave the whole an air of rude comfort. An open staircase 
set against the wall opposite to the chimney led to the 
sleeping chambers. The elder of the sisters went to and 
fro amid the unstable lights and shadows preparing the meal, 
fetching and taking away, straining potatoes, frugally mash- 
ing the tea, liberally carving the cold boiled pork garnished 
with carrots, and the quartern loaf of wheat and barley 
mixed. 

The old woman by the fire woke up from a brief doze, 
during which her hand had ceased to smooth her knee, and 
said : 

“ I doubt yo forgot to goo an’ see how mother is to-day.” 

“ No, granmam, I’ve been,” answered the girl, “ I telled 
yer so.” 

“Telled me? Well, tell me again. A oad tale for- 
gotten’s as good as a fresh, un new gotten.” 

“ She’s middling, granmam. Her head’s a little better 
and her feet’s a little worser. She telled me to tell yer 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


iQ 


there’s noat like horehound and Robin-run-i’-th’-hedge for a 
cough.” 

“ One on’s mun hae a cough,” said the old woman ; 
“ or she’ll be offended.” 

So far the girl had spoken in a slightly raised key, which 
suggested that the person whom she addressed was a little 
hard of hearing ; now she dropped her voice to its ordinary 
pitch. What she said seemed rather meant for the fire 
than for her sister who was just then busy at a side-table 
out of sight. 

U I catched Spettigew’s Tommy calling her and pelting 
her door wi’ stones, the gallous young Turk. I gied him a 
jacketing, not hafe what he desarved though, and I telled 
him I was going to be a witch some day mysen, if I’d the 
luck to live long enough, and if he didn’t behave hissen 
different the first person I witched suld be him.” 

u The bigger fool yo, our Nell,” was the curt answer 
from the side-table. 

When presently the last speaker came to the centre 
table and within sight she added : 

cc A crack-pot’s speech like thatn may be remembered 
agen yer long after yo’ve clean forgot it yoursen.” 

w Let it,” said the girl carelessly. 

“ Yo talk ! ” answered the other scornfully. “ As if bad 
reports curcheyed an’ axed leave afore settling on yer 
back ! ” 

The girl straightened her bent knee and lolled yet more 
luxuriously against her grandmother in the full blaze of the 
fire. 

“Tish, I’ve seed the new man at High Farm,” she 
said. 

“ What’s he like ? ” said Tish, pausing in the act of re- 
moving a saucepan from the fire. 

“ He’s a little un, and he’s a dark un, and he wears 


20 


FOREST FOLK 


Lunnon clo’es, and he looks at a body as if he were head 
Sir Rag. I’ve spoken to him.” 

“ Is he civil spoken ? ” 

u He een’t mealy-mouthed. He rides a good hoss.” 

“Who’s that yo’re talkin’ on ?” said the old woman, 
apparently just waking up. 

“ Oad Bagshaw’s nephew, granmam, him he’s willed the 
farm to, yo know. The moment I glegged him I reckoned 
him up. I axed him if he warn’t from somewheer 
up’ards. He axed me what I meant, if I meant as he 
looked uppish. I might ha’ said c yes.’ ” 

u Why didn’t yer then ? ” asked the elder sister. 

M I believe the smoke were in my eyes and I were mind- 
ing that.” 

w Pugh ! I believe i’ saying what yer think. Specially 
to strangers ; they might get a wrong impression on’s.” 

Dick the plough-driver slipt in, not opening the door an 
inch wider than necessary ; a pale stunted lad ill-clothed. 
His look was towards Tish and apologetic of the weather; 
he took the place at the table farthest from her and the fire ; 
whereupon he was sharply bidden draw up and warm him- 
self. Nell’s eyes were still on the blaze and her thoughts 
languorously persistent. 

“ He looks keen an’ all, but not just our sort o’ keen.” 

“ I don’t like other sorts o’ folk,” said Tish decidedly. 

u I don’t ower much, but — ” Nell mused with her eyes 
languorously searching the fire, u but — he rode a good hoss. 
And there een’t a good hoss that een’t my sort.” 

Spettigew came in from the yard dropping wet, and was 
ordered out again by Tish to cleanse his clarty shoes by the 
application of scraper to sole and besom to upper. 

“ I’m not a-gooing to hae my clean floor mucked up wi* 
yo men paddling in an’ out.” 

That done he hung up his frock and limp hat to dry by 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


21 


the door, and sat down to the table at the place vacated by 
Dick with the heavy satisfaction of a tired man. He was 
a heavy man altogether, slow-motioned, unexpectant, such 
a one as would make no calculation as to the supper pres- 
ently to be set before him; at the most there would per- 
haps be a dim hope hardly stirring the salivary glands, that 
it might be hot, succulent and abundant. 

u Say grace, Nell,” said Tish in the voice of command, 
standing over the ready table. 

The girl raised herself to her knees, put her hands to- 
gether, closed her eyes and said grace, as she had probably 
done in childhood, the first few words distinctly enough, 
the rest in an undivided gabble. 

“ For what we are about to receive thLordelpstbetrool- 
thankflamen.” 

Then she reclined back against the aged knees ; she 
looked as though a feather might sway her. 

u Ain’t yo coming to the table ? ” said Tish. 

“ I’m as well here,” said Nell lazily. 

“I don’t ho’d wi’ bein’ so nesh,” said Tish. 

However she brought Nell’s plate of meat, vegetables 
and bread, and set it on her knee, and put a cup of tea by 
her side. That was the women’s fare ; there was a mug 
of home-brewed ale for the man and a hornful for the boy. 
As they ate, the few needful words about the food before 
them were but thinly interspersed with remarks about to- 
day’s and to-morrow’s weather, and its influence on flock 
and crop. At every hush of the wind the perpendicular 
rain hissed in the chimney, and forthwith was again driven 
aslant upon the window-panes. They felt it if they did 
not hear, and their sense of it coloured their indoor com- 
fort. Spettigew was the last to finish eating, but at length 
even he pushed back his chair along the sanded floor and 
rose. Nell also rose and said : 


22 


FOREST FOLK 


“ I mun hae yo here and agate by six to-morrer, Bill 
Spettigew. Put your clock on hafe an hour. To begin 
wi’ yo can do an hour’s thrashing wi’ Lambert. Yo nedn’t 
reckon on Tant seeing to the hosses; for he wain’t. 
When yo fother the beast, don’t gie ’em so much hay, they 
nubbut traddle and waste it. Remember the sauve for the 
gilt’s ears.” 

The alert authoritative way in which she stood and 
spoke was in singular contrast to the lackadaisical attitude 
of the moment before. Spettigew had been donning his 
moist frock and hat, and now with no more answer than a 
gruff u Good-night ” went forth into the rain. 

Dick was sidling out after him as though willing to be 
covered by his departure, but was recalled by Tish. 

u What are yer gooing to do as soon as yo get 
home ? ” she asked with the severity of a magisterial 
inquisition. 

“ Help mother wi’ the children,” the lad faltered. 
u Noat o’ th’ sort ; yo’re gooing to hull them wet things 
off and skelter off to bed. I shall ax yer to-morrer if yo 
did. How’s mother ? ” 
u She’s no wuss.” 

w That such a poor cratur suld hae so many children’s 
one o’ the mysteries o’ Providence. One’s tempted to 
think they’re scattered about as random as pepper drizzles 
out’n a brucken caster. I doubt she’ll mek noat out on 
yer all. And now be off wi’ yer.” 

But as she so rudely bundled him out, she pushed into 
his hands a paper containing the remains of the cold pork 
from the table. Nell having risen did not return to her 
couch ; she set briskly to work helping her sister to clear 
the supper-table and wash up. The grandmother had sat 
silent a long while with her eyes fixed on the opposite 
wall of the chimney. 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


23 

“ Now, granmam,” said Tish, “ it’s past eight o’clock 
time.” 

“ I heerd it strike,” said the old woman. 

But still she sat. 

“ He’ll none come. He’s bin to the door two or three 
times a’ready an’ said, 1 Dal, how it rains ! ’ and then 
turned again to the fire.” 

The grandmother said no more ; she rose to her feet ; 
Nell took her by the hand and led her up-stairs. From 
her manner of doing so it was evident the old woman was 
blind. Half an hour later the whole household was abed; 
save one. 

About midnight there were heavy unsteady steps out- 
side, a rude opening of the door, an unregulated trampling 
over the bricks. If Nell were asleep she was a light 
sleeper, for almost immediately she came down-stairs hastily 
draped, with no mark of sleep about her eyes. The candle 
she carried showed the newcomer to be a tall young man, 
finely formed, completely drunk. His clothes — dark-green 
coat, pink waistcoat, drab breeches, brown boots — were as 
though sodden, and were besides as plentifully bedaubed 
from top to toe as if he had fallen in the road and wallowed 
there. His face, his tangled hair, of the same hue as 
Nell’s, under a damaged felt hat, bore similar disorderly 
marks of the weather and rough usage. A white terrier 
which had come in with him had suffered equally from the 
rain and the roads, but was apparently sober. The man 
glanced at Nell with a stupefied blink, so different from the 
gaze of her own clear grey. 

“ Well, Nell ! ” he said thickly. “ It’s rainin’. Drot 
it, how it does rain ! Where’sh Tish ? I tho’t yo’d all 
be abed.” 

“ Tek your boots off,” said Nell. 

She helped him to find a chair, she brought the boot- 


24 


FOREST FOLK 


jack, she held the candle. He tugged awkwardly at his 
miry top-boots, tugged and desisted and tugged again. 
The terrier had coiled himself up under the grandmother’s 
chair out of the way of men’s feet or other notice. 

“There’sh to be a ratting at Gill’s next week. I’ve put 
a sovereign on Mosley’s Patty. For yo, Nell. Dang it, 
how it does rain! Hark at it! Yo’re a good wench, 
Nell, an’ g-good-looking.” 

u Be sharp wi’ your boots,” said Nell. 

u Tom Bradley bauges ’bout his Polly. Damn Tom 
Bradley’s Polly ! ” Pie brought his large fist down mightily 
upon the table, so that it resounded hollowly and seemed 
to try to hop on its stifF-kneed legs. The terrier looked 
up, but seeing it was all about nothing coiled himself again 
tighter than ever. w Tha’sh all I care for Tom B — Brad- 
ley. Or Tom’sh Polly ayther.” 

“ Yo’ll wakken Tish,” said Nell. u What a fool yo 
are ! ” 

u So am, so am. Bu’ not such a fool ash ” — here he 
looked at her with sudden sodden gravity — “ ash by my 
actions m-might be sh’posed.” 

Nell did not say whether she saw any difference between 
his own wisdom and that of his actions ; she said nothing. 
The boot-drawing made little progress ; she knelt down 
and with hand to filthy heel dragged them off herself. 

“ Now come to bed,” she said. 

But he settled himself on his chair; the scattered embers 
of a filmed red still in the grate did not even suggest 
warmth. 

“ Come to bed wi’ yer ! ” 

“ ’M all raight ’ere ; ’m not gooin’ nowheer.” 

His eyes were already shut. 

u By guy, but yo are ! ” 

She set down the candle, and with a burst of astonishing 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


25 


energy in so girlish a frame lifted him to his feet. He 
showed no surprise at his change of posture; his obstinacy 
seemed to have been left in the slumber from which he had 
been awakened ; he suffered himself to be led to the foot 
of the stairs. There his obstinacy also awoke, tardily ; he 
turned again towards the sullen hearth. But she stood in 
his way. 

w No, Tant, yo don’t ! ” 

Thrice he returned, and thrice she turned him back, as a 
shepherd withstands the wilfulness of a solitary sheep. 
Then he seemed to abandon his obstinacy, as the sheep 
seems; he stumbled up some half-dozen of the stairs. But 
there he sat down, lay down, sank down, and was imme- 
diately submerged in a deep sleep. Nell took him roughly 
by the legs and dragged him, bump, bump, bump ! — three 
several jolts had his head — to the bottom of the stairs. 
Even for that he did not wake; he lay at the bottom like a 
log. The dog under the chair whined uneasily, as though 
feeling for his master’s insensibility In vain Nell strove 
to set him on his legs again ; the dead resistance of his 
large frame was too much for her. 

For a minute or two she stood looking down on him. 
What her thoughts were could only be got at by the un- 
intimate process of conjecture. She uttered no word. 
Her face was turned from the candle’s dim scrutiny. The 
bowing of the head is the natural posture of one who 
looks down ; a shiver which runs through the body may 
be the physical efFect of cold. But whether she felt the 
night chill or no upon her scantily clad person, she did not 
stand long. She went hastily and reached down a heavy 
hunting crop which hung on the outside of the chimney 
wall; then taking the candle as though to light her to its 
exact application, she smote him several times smartly 
about his legs and body. The first stroke or two he did 


26 


FOREST FOLK 


not seem to feel ; at succeeding ones he stirred uneasily as 
though a dream of blows troubled him ; but at last one 
must have lighted on a feeling part, for up he sprang with 
an oath, suddenly awake, white wrath on his face, his fist 
back drawn for the return. Terribly strong he looked and 
terribly angry. The dog came just out from under the 
chair and looked on whimpering a little, as in a deprecation 
that expected nothing. Nell made no effort to escape or 
ward off the threatened blow ; she stood straight up, pale 
but dauntless, and held the candle high as if to light its 
aim. But the blow did not fall ; or not visibly. 

“ Damn it, was it yo, Nell ? ” 

“It was, Tant.” 

He laughed ; she did not, or not outwardly. 

“ Yo did lay on, damn yer.” 

“Don’t say so, Tant!” she said with pale sternness. 
“ It’s a fearful thing to say unless you mean it. If yo 
mean it I’ve noat again it.” 

“ Mean it ? Bless yer, lass, I meant no more nor if I’d 
said, c Bless yer.’ I’ my opinion this here damnation’s like 
the French invasion ; plenty o’ talk, but no sign. Every 
mouth’s as full on’t as a pedlar’s budget, but nubbody’s seen 
the colour of a French cooat.” 

“Yo fool! There’s hunderds o’ thousands o’ cooats 
and Frenchmen in ’em the t’other side the watter.” 

“So they say at th’ale’us.” A present smart fetched 
him out of those abstrusenesses. “ Yo did lam me devilish 
free an’ all. That last were a clinker ; it’ll tek some rub- 
bing off. However” — he spoke with a sudden drop to 
deeper feeling — “ bless yer, Nell. And now let’s goo to 
bed.” 

They mounted the stairs. The dog having with an 
unenthusiastic wag of the tail approved the recurrence of 
his betters to a temporary reasonableness, went back to 


BY THE FIRESIDE 


27 

his couch by the fire. On the landing the young man 
said : 

u That sovereign I put on Mosley’s terrier — I’ll mek it 
two ; and it’s for yo, Nell.” 

u Shut up ! Yo’ll wakken Tish.” 

She entered his bare bedroom with him, set the candle 
safely on a shelf, and left him. 

“ Good-night, Nell,” said Tant. 

But she made him no answer. 

In a while she returned to his room and looked in. He 
was abed and snoring ; his dishevelled hair was about his 
handsome flushed face like an alehouse aureole ; his wet 
soiled raiment lay in a heap on the plaster floor. Taking 
the candle she carried them down-stairs, and hung them on 
a clothes-horse before the fire to dry. As she arranged 
them a mask roughly fashioned of some black stuff dropped 
out of one of the pockets. Hitherto her face had been 
palely impassionate, but that sight broke its phlegm sud- 
denly, as though it had been the first blow. An upsurging 
of emotion troubled its surface. She sank down in her 
grandmother’s chair and sobbed outright. And there were 
low cries between the tears, the purport of which seemed 
to be something like this : 

“ That an’ all ! that an’ all ! Oh the fool, the fool of a 
lad ! Well-a-day, well-a-day ! Oh, father ! Oh, mother ! 
Oh the gret soft fool of a lad.” 

The dog sat up, as one who thinks that something must 
be done ; the dog lay down again in the impossibility of 
sympathy with the excesses that afflict superior intellects. 
But it was not for long ; Nell soon stayed her moans and 
dried her tears ; and as she put her handkerchief back in 
her pocket she seemed in a strangely complete manner to 
put her grief off from her face. She returned to her cold 
bed. 


CHAPTER III 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 

Nell got hold of Tant next morning before the head- 
ache and repentance had worn off. He rose none too 
early, and when she entered his room he had not quite fin- 
ished dressing. She had the black mask in her hand. 

u What’s this ? ” she said. 

Tant shrugged his shoulders as men do at yesterday’s 
follies, and turned away to take up his neck-cloth. 

M Nubbut a bit o’ tomfoolery,” he answered. 

u I don’t like any-coloured tomfoolery mysen, but what 
am I to think to black tomfoolery ? ” 

“ Was I drunk last night ? ” 

u Drunk ? Some ! If yo don’t know yo may be sure 
on’t. But that warn’t the worst ; there were some ma- 
chines brucken on Rufford road.” 

w Ay ? War there ? ” 

w Yo know ; yo were theer.” 

“ How d’yer know ? War yo ? ” 

Nell still had the black mask in her hand ; she again held 
it under his eyes. 

“ Yo may duck and dodge and twizzle, but yo’ll never 
deny it, our Tant, I know that.” 

“ Well, and if I war ? ” 

u Well ? Much well ! If yo get hanged or transported.” 

“We tek good care o’ that. We clear the ground o’ 
witnesses aforehand.” 

“Yo don’t clear it o’ yoursens. There’s a fifty-pound 
reward ; one on yer’s doomed to addle it.” 

28 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


29 


w We’ve took the oath, we’re sworn to be true.” 

“Yo may talk o’ sweering blackamoors to be white, yo 
may talk.” 

u We’re a band o’ true honest-hearted mates, ’sociated 
together for our common weal.” 

u At least yo get drunk together.” 

“But nubbudy durst; it’d be all his life was worth; 
we’re sworn to be revenged on him. A man wouldn’t sell 
his life for fifty pound.” 

U I dunno that; but I know he’ll sometimes sell his life 
for his life. Fear’s a very venturesome thing.” 

Tant had at last got his coat on; he had no resource but 
to stand and answer. 

“ I mun tek my chance. It don’t matter a hop to me 
whether they mek their rotten laces on wide frames or 
narrer uns, but I wain’t hae town machinery and town 
smells bro’t to Blid’orth. It’s bad enough to hae the 
country cut up into mouthfuls wi’ these damned fences, it 
shan’t be turned into town. Blid’orth law provides agen 
it.” 

w Blid’orth law’s a knife wi’out a handle ; yo can’t cut 
wee’t wi’out being cut. An ep’n tool, sure-lye ! ” 

u It’s better nor no tool.” 

u Ay ? When? Just when a far-fetched damage is 
better nor biding still.” 

u I dunno but what ’tis alius. Anyhow the country’s 
for country folk. Folk as don’t care whether they breathe 
air or poison mun goo to Sheffield. I mean to keep a 
place for the ling and the larks.” 

w Rammel ! Yo men as stan’ gos-hawking at the cor- 
ners tek into your mouths what others ud hardly care to set 
foot on. Is it yo, think yer, as grows the ling and breeds 
the larks ? If it een’t, what consarn is it o’ yourn to pro- 
vide the soil they grow on or the air they sing in ? M’ap- 


30 


FOREST FOLK 


pen yo’ve planned to be God A’mighty at Blid’orth ? I 
let you to know God A’mighty don’t slive about with a 
black bluft on ; that’s more liker another sort o’ person.” 

“Let him list; we’ll accept him. We’ve noat agen 
nubbudy, good or bad, heder or sheder, if they’ll on’y 
sweer to be staunch and stayable.” 

u He’ll sweer.” 

u There’s lanes at Nottingham chockful o’ these cursed 
machines, and ower every one on ’em a little white-faced 
monkey scrooching as if he dussn’t for his life tek his eyes 
off’n it. Whirr-irr-irr, they goo, all the day and hafe the 
night. I’d as lieve hear the death-ruttle. Blid’orth’s clean 
at present; there’s noat in’t to offend a kingfisher, and 
that’s the daintiest o’ birds. I were born here, and here it 
behoves me to die.” 

“Yo’ll not, lad, yo’ll die on Gallows Hill.” 

u Yo’ll be rid on me.” 

“ And the disgrace, lad ? That’s not so easy gotten rid 
on. There’s no market for’t; it can’t be gien away.” 

“ There wain’t be no disgrace ; for yo at any rate.” 

“ There’ll be your last dying speech to be bought for a 
penny. M’appen yo think that’s glory ? ” 

u I wain’t mek no speech ; I’ll die like a man.” 

“Yo’d better live like a man. Yo moot, afore yo can 
die like one. And this” — again she held forth the black 
rag — “ don’t show much promise o’ that. There’s some 
harrering wants doing to Award Cluss ; it strikes me that’s 
as much man’s work as smashing other folks’s hardware, 
or e’en as much as hanging by the neck wi’out a speech. 
But if a man wain’t do it a woman mun.” 

“ I’ll do’t.” 

w And put this i’ th’ fire.” 

She handed him back the shred of black. 

“ Nell ! ” 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


3 1 


It was Tish’s voice from below the stairs. 

“ Ay ?” 

w Come down and gie Mason’s lass a pennorth of oad 
milk ; I’m fast.” 

Low Farmhouse and the few neighbouring closes of 
sandy soil were the freehold property of the Rideouts, that 
is to say of the young man and woman whose acquaintance 
we have made under the names of Tant and Nell, and of 
their married sister Letitia, commonly called Tish ; the re- 
mainder of their inconsiderable holding being upon a yearly 
lease. The freehold portion included a piece of land re- 
cently awarded them by the enclosure commissioners in 
commutation of their right of pasturage upon the wide 
common ; but the greater part had been first won from the 
gorse and ling of the Forest by John Rideout the grand- 
father. It had been the common boast of the family that 
no hand but theirs had ever turned a furrow there “ sin 
man was first invented.” u And none never suld ” old 
John was wont to add, flattered into prophecy by the posses- 
sion of six stalwart sons to succeed him. 

But the grandfather went the way of all flesh, one of his 
sons pre-deceased him, two took to soldiering, one emi- 
grated to America, another preferred a town life, only John, 
his youngest, remained upon the farm, and the secondary 
boast was no longer heard. John the second married, but 
while he was yet in the prime of life his wife died, leaving 
him with three children — a boy and girl quite young, and 
a recently married daughter, the intermediate issue having 
been carried off in one visitation of smallpox. John’s 
mother said : 

u Tek another wife, lad, out o’ respect for the dead;” 
and again, u out o’ pity for the living.” 

His grandmother in that spirit of promise which had 
made her so unpopular with her neighbours, said : 


32 


FOREST FOLK 


w If yo wain’t marry stannin’ yo shan’t lyin’ ; if yo wain’t 
i’ your chair yo shan’t i’ your bed.” 

But he did not marry again ; in less than two years he 
was killed by the fall of his horse out hunting. Of which 
all persons considered the beldame’s threat and finger to 
have been premonitory; not a few, comprising all those at 
Blidworth who loved to get to the bottom of a thing 
(especially when that thing was a neighbour’s character) 
held it to have been causatory. 

Meanwhile Tish Gillott, the married daughter, had left 
her husband upon some disagreement and returned home. 
She after the father’s death took upon herself the direction 
of the house and farm, being a person of a strong hand, a 
strong will and a quick temper. 

To the son Anthony, commonly called Tant, the early 
removal of a father’s restraint had been detrimental. He 
had resented his elder sister’s interference, sometimes defying, 
sometimes eluding it. He had developed into a young man 
of a superb physique, a keen sportsman, the best boxer in 
all the Forest district. He could sing a song, dance a horn- 
pipe, mimic a pig ; was a careless acquirer and spender, and 
in the main of an easy temper, though it was not safe to 
presume on it ; but such merits as those only gave him the 
readier access to the cock-fighters, poachers and beer-boys, 
whose society he chiefly frequented. Sometimes he worked, 
it is true, and at a pinch would put forth his energies with 
a vehemence which was too fierce to be called industry ; 
but the larger share of his time was divided between his 
more active pastimes and mere idling at the pot-house or in 
the open air. 

All the greater burden fell upon his sisters, who had not 
only to take his place in the direction of the labourers, but 
often at the plough-tail and with the reaping-hook. But as 
Nell the youngest grew up there came to be a tacit division 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


33 


of occupation between her and her sister Tish ; the latter 
ruled house and dairy, Nell the fields, the yard being de- 
batable land between the two. The younger sister became 
known in the neighbouring markets as a fair judge of a 
beast, a good one of a horse. She mixed little with the 
young of either sex. Her amusements were those of the 
male farmer, she coursed hares with her greyhound bitch, 
she shot rabbits for the pot, as often as she might she rode 
to hounds on her old hunter Plasty. Tish who had become 
somewhat less active as she grew stouter got sufficient 
bodily exercise from her household duties, her daily out- 
breaks of temper and the form of religious service in use at 
the Methodist chapel. 

The household was completed by the blind grandmother. 
But at the detached hamlet half-a-mile off, which as it was 
situated at the foot of Blidworth hill was called Blidworth 
Bottoms, lived her mother in a little cottage alone, a bel- 
dame who it was currently believed had turned her hun- 
dredth year. She had resisted with the fewest of words all 
persuasions to permit an attendant to reside with her and 
minister to her comfort. 

“ I’ve bin married once,” she said, u to a man ; I ain’t 
a-gooin’ to be married again, to a woman.” 

Neither would she let herself be removed to the farm- 
house. She had been born in that cottage, she had prom- 
ised that she would die there ; and it was commonly 
expected at Blidworth that her promises should hold good. 

u My next flitting shall be my last,” she said, with an 
oracular wag of the head towards the churchyard on the 
hill. 

In those days a rural community was as little complete 
without a witch as without a parson or a doctor, and at 
Blidworth many more persons were convinced of old Mary 
Fiddys’s illicit powers than attended the Rev. Mr. Clay’s 


34 


FOREST FOLK 


ministrations on Sunday, or showed half-a-crown’s worth 
of confidence in one of Dr. Fletcher’s bottles, though he 
lived so far off as Mansfield. She was an albino, and no 
doubt the singularity of her appearance, together with the 
nocturnal habits which her infirmity occasioned, had much 
to do with her supernatural reputation. Besides she had 
been a woman of much eccentricity of character, of a sharp 
temper and an edged tongue, given to express unusual 
opinions in rude epigram, though now a mere mumbler of 
forgotten matters. And if more reasons yet be required, 
the parish had felt the immediate need as soon as old Nan 
Tagg died of fixing upon her successor in witchcraft. 

The younger members of her family did what they could 
for her in paying a woman to give her by day such assist- 
ance in the house as she needed and would accept, and to 
keep an unobtrusive watch over her by night. The old 
woman was superacute in her likes and dislikes ; some half- 
dozen attendants had already been tried and rejected, and 
latterly the office had been undertaken by the wife of their 
labourer Spettigew, who lived over the way. Hannah 
Spettigew, perhaps through the lassitude of chronic ill- 
health, was dull to the difference between frequenting a 
witch’s society out of neighbourship and as a paid helper; 
but her husband only gave his surly consent upon the 
promise of a shilling a week more than she would have re- 
ceived for the nursing of a mere old woman like Liza 
Beeley. The Low Farmhouse was a humble erection, 
made up firstly of an original two-storied thatched portion, 
comprising house-place and dairy on the ground with three 
bedrooms above ; and secondly of a tiled lean-to which was 
added by grandfather John when his family of six sons and 
three daughters grew too large for the old dwelling. This 
became then the common living-room, which has already 
been described, while the former house-place, papered over 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


35 


the whitewash and with a new fire-grate, went by the name 
of “the room.” At a right angle to the older part of the 
house a range of stabling extended along one side of the 
crew-yard ; opposite to that stood the barn and hovels, be- 
yond was the stack-yard facing the back of the house. 

High House upon the hill was as different in itself and 
its surroundings as in the circumstances of its inmates. Its 
size and appearance were such as almost entitled it to be 
called a mansion ; the farm-buildings at the rear were ample 
and of the best construction ; its situation commanded 
noble prospects, particularly to the south, the direction in 
which its principal front looked, that dim grey appearance, 
behind so many ridges of hills mounting one above the 
other in decreasing distinctness, being said to be the sky- 
line of the Leicestershire Wolds. On the lawn in front of 
the house and scattered over the adjoining land were some 
three or four score primeval oaks, the sole remains in the 
neighbourhood of the ancient forest ; gnarled and twisted 
trunks of unknown age, they gave the place an air of un- 
usual dignity. A colony of rooks nestled in them. 

Mr. Bagshaw, the former tenant of this house and of the 
seven hundred acres attached thereto, had died shortly be- 
fore the time at which our story opens, and had bequeathed 
his valuable furniture, stock and goodwill to his nephew 
Arthur Skrene, upon condition that he resided in the house 
and personally worked the farm for a period of not less 
than seven years from the date of the testator’s decease. 
The said Arthur we have already observed on his way 
thither to ascertain whether it would be worth his while to 
accept the legacy and its proviso. He spent the following 
week in taking an inventory with professional assistance 
from Mansfield of crop and stock. He lifted his shoulders 
a little at the wild waste scenery, which seemed to him a 
bad exchange for the pleasant fruitful county of Kent, 


3 ^ 


FOREST FOLK 


where his father was a substantial yeoman. He found the 
soil of half the farm to be of the lightest, but it was in ad- 
mirable order ; the stock, both live and dead, was the best 
of the most suitable, the farm-buildings and the house were 
convenient and in perfect repair; all had evidently been in 
the hands of a man who was the master of his trade and 
had besides sufficient means to back his judgment. And 
there were no restrictions on the shooting. It was un- 
doubtedly a high valuable gift, and Arthur Skrene, not- 
withstanding that lift of his shoulders, did not hesitate to 
accept it. He immediately took the concern under his 
own management, and wrote for his sister Lois who had 
promised in the event of his acceptance to keep house for 
him. 

But before she arrived he had seen Nell Rideout again, 
and again had not quite hit it with her. He was making 
the circuit of the farm, gun on shoulder, partly bent on 
sport and partly on a business-like oversight of his laboured 
operations. Before him went his uncle’s well-bred setter, 
and behind him a lad with a bag over his shoulders. It 
was a still and hazy morning ; the sun shone but always 
with a sort of film between it and the eye. Still it gave 
warmth, and the slight hoar-frost which had settled in the 
night had melted before it, except on the cold side of some 
coarse upstanding tussock of the pastures or under the 
clods of muck freely scattered over the yet unploughed 
stubble. The turf, short-cropped by sheep and horse, was 
bedewed with countless tiny shining beads, on which his 
foot at each step left a destructive mark. The plough 
horses were half hidden in the breath of their mouths and 
the steam of their bodies. Distance was measurable by 
the gradations of the few trees visible. This ash close at 
hand showed (yet did not show) the merging of its brown 
and grey and green as in the clearest light; that thorn 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


37 


rising out of the opposite hedge was blurred as by a con- 
siderable interval ; the old oak-stump two fields off on the 
top of the slope was a mere semblance of grey, but one 
degree more opaque than the atmosphere which surrounded 
it. 

The young farmer had not long set out and was skirting 
the hedge and the dribbling brook which formed the com- 
mon boundary of his own and the Rideouts’ holdings, 
when he heard a shout some distance in front of him, 
feminine but loud : 

u So ho ! so ho ! ” 

u Theer goos Nell Rideout’s grew, mester ! ” said the 
lad. 

But Arthur had already seen a beautiful fallow hound 
start a hare in the next field. He stood and watched her 
pursue the poor animal’s doublings with inevitable speed. 
Its last resource was to dart through the intervening hedge, 
but the dog fenced in gallant style, bustled it out of the 
ditch and killed within thirty yards of them. 

“ She’s got ’im, she’s got ’im,” cried the lad with sports- 
man-like enthusiasm. 

“ I see that she has,” said his master dryly, and called 
his setter to heel. 

“ Theer’s Nell hersen ! ” 

w So I perceive.” 

She approached from the other side of the boundary, 
which as the ground fell away rapidly was much lower. 
Just under them she stopped, and picked up the hare which 
the hound dropped at her feet. 

“ Beautifully done, my beauty ! ” she said. 

Then she lifted her clear grey eyes upon Arthur. She 
was dressed much as when first he saw her, except that in 
place of the smock-frock she wore a man’s fustian jacket, 
loosely buttoned. Her red blood stimulated by the pleasant 


FOREST FOLK 


38 

prick of the keen air shone through the transparent skin. 
Arthur raised his hat. 

u It was started on our land,” she said somewhat 
defiantly. 

She had had many a wrangle with old Bagshaw over fur 
and feather. 

“ I hope it’s a fat one,” said Arthur suavely. 

“ It warn’t, mester,” said the lad at his elbow, “ ’twar on 
our side the beck. It’s ronk poaching.” 

u Permit me,” said Arthur, u to prefer Miss Rideout’s 
excellent eyesight.” Then to Nell : u I hope you’ve had 
good sport.” 

“ Middling.” 

“ It’s a beautiful morning.” 

u The morning’s never better nor what the sport is.” 

Perhaps she was disappointed of a quarrel. Perhaps she 
disliked having been caught trespassing. Perhaps, ob- 
scurely, unwittingly, she felt that her own exterior was in 
sorry contrast to the young man’s neat dress and handsome 
equipment. Certainly she stood on the lower ground, in 
itself a perceptible disadvantage. Anyhow she was in no 
very sweet temper, which his serenely superior good- 
humour only made the sourer. 

u That’s a good bitch of yours,” he said. 

“ If yo think yo’ve a better I’ll match mine to run again 
yourn for five pounds, where and when yo like.” 

“ Unfortunately I haven’t one. Or not unfortunately, 
for doubtless it would be a worse.” 

“ We don’t think much to setters hereabouts for shoot- 
ing ; we fancy pointers where there’s so much goss.” 

“ Quite right, quite right.” Again he raised his hat. 
“ I wish you good-morning, Miss Rideout.” 

“ Ho’d a bit. Treasure didn’t start the hare on our 
ground; ’twere on yourn.” 


AN EXCHANGE OF PRESENTS 


39 

u Really ? Then I appear to have the more right to 
hope it is a fat one.” 

She was surprised herself that she was so much stung 
by the hardly perceptible tone of banter there was in his 
civility. 

“ It seems to me,” she said, “yo don’t think us worth a 
quarrel.” 

With the smile only a little more apparent he answered, 
“ I trust I may never have to make up my mind as to that. 
But I am quite sure a trifle like a hare isn’t.” 

u P’raps i’ the wonderful country yo come from yo’ve 
cows to quarrel about every day. Here i’ these parts if yo 
can’t brangle about a hare yo wain’t about noat.” 

u All the better ; I’m a peaceable man ; I never — that is 
hardly ever — quarrel about anything.” 

u That c hardly ever’s ’ a bit stret for what’s in’t.” 
u I beg your pardon,” said Arthur, not quite understand- 
ing her dialect. 

“Yo know yo don’t owe me no ‘beg pardons’; if yo 
did I suldn’t be back’ard to ax for ’em. If yo don’t think 
it worth while to try an’ mek me beg your pardon, that’s 
your consarn.” 

With his eyes on the hare, not her, and the slightest ad- 
ditional drawl, he began, w I hope ” 

u It’s a fat un ? ” 

“ Most heartily.” 

She held the animal by the hind legs. 
u Handle it yoursen.” 

She swung it round her head and hurled it at him over 
the hedge; it struck him smartly in the wind. Before he 
had fully recovered his breath he picked it up and thanked 
her. 

“ I — ugh — thank you — ugh — thank you. It is as I 
hoped,” he added urbanely as his wind improved ; “ it is a 


4 o 


FOREST FOLK 


fat one ; my best thanks ; it shall be for my Sunday 
dinner.” 

He handed the hare to the lad and resumed his walk, 
after bidding her good-morning in the tones of an obliged 
person. She amused him ; and even without the sunset at 
her back she made a picturesque figure. 

u I’ll roil him yet,” vowed Nell to herself. She needed 
the comfort of the prophecy ; she felt that at every point 
her ill-humour had been worsted by his complacency. 

In the course of his stroll Arthur Skrene shot a leash of 
partridges, which he bade his lad take to Miss Rideout with 
his compliments. 

“To Rideout’s Nell ?” exclaimed the lad, agape with 
astonishment. 

“To Miss Rideout, if you please. It displeases a tenant 
farmer’s sense of propriety that a labouring lad should 
know a tenant farmer’s Christian name. Miss Rideout 
with Mr. Skrene’s compliments. Kindly reduce the gape of 
your mouth and get that by heart.” 

So when Nell went in she was taken by Tish to see the 
birds hanging up in the dairy. 

“ c Miss Rideout with Mr. Skrene’s compliments.’ 
Mebbe yo know what it means, for I don’t.” 

“ I met him this morning and gied him a hare. I sup- 
pose it’s to mek him level wi’ me.” 

“ What i’ th’ world did yo gie him a hare for ? ” 

“ For his Sunday dinner.” 

“Yo seem to be strange and in wee ’m all at once. 
We’ll hae them for Sunday. It don’t seem as there’ll be 
much lumber ower that theer gate wi’ him.” 

“ I’m none so sure on’t.” 


CHAPTER IV 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 

Soon after Christmas Miss Skrene came down by the 
Nottingham and Mansfield coach. Her brother was in 
waiting for her in the latter town with a gentle-mannered 
pony specially procured by him for her riding ; upon which 
she trotted beside him by wood, moor and farm to High 
House. Her luggage came on more slowly, slung over a 
pack-horse’s back. She was muffled in the many wraps 
necessary for a long coach journey in winter, which left 
little of her to be seen beyond this : that she was small and 
girlish, that she had dark hair in close curls and hazel eyes 
like her brother’s, with that paler olive complexion which 
can be as quick and eloquent in its changes as the most 
obvious carmine and white, and that even in travelling she 
did not wear one of last year’s hats. On the way she gave 
her brother in her young lady’s manner a lively opinion of 
the exceeding dreariness of the country. 

u It isn’t much to look at,” said Arthur, u but the na- 
tives are picturesque — some of them.” 

M Oh then, it is quite a foreign country ? ” 
w And a capital hunting country too.” 

M In that case I’ve not one word more to say against it ; 
I understand that it’s just a prickly paradise.” 

Arthur’s first practical proof of it as a hunting country 
was about a week later, when he attended the meet at 
Oxton of the nearest pack of hounds, the Master of which, 
Squire Pepper, is still remembered for his hard swearing 
and (if possible) harder riding. Well mounted on a roan 

41 


42 


FOREST FOLK 


mare, white-breeched, scarlet-coated, black-velvet-capped, 
he cut a very good figure and was well received by those 
of the gentlemen and superior farmers who had already 
made his acquaintance. Nell came up a little later on her 
old horse Hasty, a big brown which had once carried her 
father’s nineteen stone. He was a half-bred plain-looking 
animal, perhaps overlong in the back, with a sensible head 
however, but nothing remarkable about him save his 
mighty shoulders. Out of consideration for his age Nell 
only rode to hounds when the appointment was near home 
and never more than once a week. 

The field met, as was the custom of our ancestors, in 
ample time to have seen the sun rise, had there been any- 
thing of it to see beyond a gradual chilly whitening of the 
general grey. It was a raw misty morning ; every tree 
dripped like a rain cloud, every bush was covered with 
water drops, the herbage was sodden ; it seemed as though 
the dank still air might be squeezable between the palms 
like a full sponge. Between every man’s eyes was set a 
purple nose, and application to the brandy flask was 
frequent. Upon Nell’s complexion and spirits however 
the weather seemed to have no more influence than on her 
horse’s. She wore the high-crowned cross-ribboned hat 
much curved at the brim, which had been fashionable 
twenty years before, and a habit of country-cut and 
weather-beaten fabric, which might once have been a 
homogeneous grey or blue or green, but was then a special 
moor-side blending of all three ; it was girded at the waist 
with a plain broad leathern belt. She was the only woman 
present, and kept herself to a decent reserve, neither avoid- 
ing those of her own degree who were mustered there 
nor making free with any, but giving and receiving saluta- 
tions with the same business-like brevity as at Mansfield 
market. The only person with whom she exchanged a few 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 


43 


sentences of conversation was the huntsman, and that all 
about the morning’s sport. About anything else indeed old 
Joe Passon would hardly have conversed with anybody ; 
dog was the centre of his universe ; horse was the animal 
that rode to hounds, man being the animal created to ride 
him to hounds. He was a wonderfully lean and bent old 
man, but still rode with as firm a seat as any one in that 
gathering. It was while Nell stood by that with his usual 
dry civility to a title he said to Lord Mutch : 

“ Fine mornin’ for the scent, my lord.” 

u And for nothing else,” grumbled the shivering peer. 

The huntsman instantly wheeled about, uncivilly pre- 
senting his horse’s quarters to his lordship, and growled be- 
tween his snappish gums : 

“ What the devil else does the man want it good for ? ” 

But the Master, who had been detained a short while by 
the urgent hospitality of the hall, came up, and the hounds 
were entered in a piece of heathery moorland northwest 
of the village. The first fox, after a zigzagging run of no 
great length, was killed in the open between the Grange and 
Robin Hood Hill. Arthur’s style, which trusted more to 
horse’s speed and man’s courage than to knowledge of the 
country and the fox’s ways, was freely criticised by heavy- 
sterned riders of the old school. One of them, a jolly 
rotund old farmer of the name of Machin, said : 

“Yon yoongster’s got a good commencin’ notion o’ 
ridin’ to hounds; he nubbut wants to brek ’is neck once; 
that’ll larn ’im all ’e don’t know.” 

While a neighbouring spinney was being drawn, Arthur, 
happily unconscious of the unfavourable appreciation, got 
into conversation with the speaker of it by remarking 
slightly upon the singularity of two conical excrescences on 
the hillside hard by. 

“Ah,” said Mr. Machin, “them’s the tombs o’ two o’ 


44 


FOREST FOLK 


the oad ancient original Red Indian chiefs, long afore the 
days o’ Robin Hood an’ Guy Fawkes. Major Rook dug 
’em out. He’s fun’ a many on ’em about ’ere ; ’e’s a sort 
o’ gentleman-resurrectionist. They say ’e’s such a gift ’e 
could smell a oad corp if ’twere buried a mile deep. Pride’s 
a damned bad quallity in dead men. If them two chaps ’ed 
been satisfied to be buried wheer their families buried, 
wi’out all their sideboard silver an’ race cups about ’em an’ 
so much splauge, they might a ligged i’ peace while the 
day o’ judgment.” 

But the fox was holloaed off from the far-side of the 
covert. As they put their horses in motion Nell cantered 
past. The exercise and excitement had warmed her blood 
and set her eyes on fire. She sat her horse as though she 
lived there, with perfect security and grace. A fallen tress 
hid the ear that they might else have seen. 

“ E’ent she a picture ? ” said Mr. Machin. “ Drot it, 
it’s ommost as gret a pity a handsome wench should ever 
grow oad as a good hoss should.” 

“She’s not bad-looking,” said Arthur; and neither the 
terms nor the tone of his assent pleased the old farmer. 

w Wheer yo coom from sich uns m’appen are as common 
as c not bad ’ tunnips ? I were born an’ bred i’ th’ forest, 
and lay my sen to die here ; it’s a fairish ordinary sort o’ 
soil to live on an’ be buried in. M’appen I shall goo theer 
when I’m dead; if I’m passed. Well ! ” 

A sounding thwack of whipstock on solid horse-flesh 
emphasised his uncertainty about his future prospects, and 
he and Arthur parted company, the one preferring the gate, 
the other the direct line of the fence. They left the heath 
and entered an enclosed country of high hedges. The 
mist began to turn to rain, the clay stuck like glue ; but the 
hounds went at a merry pace round Wolfeley Hill and 
straight for Halam. There the fox had doubled, and his. 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 


45 


too eager pursuers over-ran their scent, but after a brief 
check found it again and tracked him along Halam Valley 
and up Oxton Hill. Old Hasty’s stiff joints seemed to 
have been loosened by the former run, and Nell had ridden 
among the first few. Arthur consciously set himself to out- 
pace her ; yet hitherto her tact and knowledge of every 
yard of the country had held the advantage over his well- 
mounted impetuosity. But during that ensuing plunge 
into the Dumble, where the ground was rugged and beset 
with gorse, he passed her and lost sight of her horse- 
womanship. That was both loss and gain ; but there was 
no time to balance their differences. The hounds were be- 
fore their eyes, beautifully together, traversing the grassy 
expanse in which Oxton is situated. The scent was good ; 
their encouraging music pervaded the thick air. But hard 
by the hall they turned sharp for Windmill Hill. Up the 
slope they swept, all together — through the rain their white 
and tan had a filmy softness — and soon disappeared behind 
the ridge. On the hillside there was nothing to be seen 
but here and there a rain-blurred dab of moving scarlet or 
less conspicuous green or blue. The huntsman’s horn 
seemed miles away. To the left there was a crowd of 
horsemen on the road. 

Arthur happened on the roughest portion of the ascent, 
Nell took it inevitably at the easiest, and when they drew 
together again had gained considerably upon him. She was 
not more than ten yards behind — he did not look but he 
knew — when suddenly there rose up out of the uneven 
ground before him a formidable fence, a quick-set hedge 
which had been newly u chubbed ” or lopped, stiff, spiky, 
forbidding, with a yawning ditch on the take-off side and 
beyond it an unnecessary ox-rail set a yard and a half back. 
He had touched his mare’s flanks with the spurs to let her 
know there was work for her, when like a flash the old 


46 


FOREST FOLK 


horse behind crossed his thoughts, troubling them. He was 
fully persuaded that come what might Nell would follow 
his lead, and he misdoubted the old horse’s powers ; he felt 
as though he were carrying double weight. The rider’s 
hesitation was sped to the ridden-on down the conductive 
reins, and by where his knees gripped her; she too hesi- 
tated, refused what was hardly offered her. Arthur looked 
down the fence for an easier place. 

u There’s a nice gap hafe a furlong off ; it’s out o’ my 
road or I’d show yer ; that-away.” 

That from Nell as she gave her old horse a kindly en- 
couraging tap of the whip ; he rose mightily, spread him- 
self grandly, and cleared the oxer just, to a quarter of an 
inch, like an old horse who knows himself. Arthur was 
furious, with himself for his miscalculated generosity, with 
her for her taunt. He went back a few paces ; his spurs 
were red ; the mare bounded over like an undisciplined 
young thing that disdains to count inches. For hot-blooded 
steed and rider in such a mood the oldster and his consid- 
erate mistress were no match ; they parted company. The 
hounds were running with the wind, if there were a wind, 
straight for Loath Hill and the covert from which the fox 
had first been ousted ; but as Arthur rapidly descended he 
again lost sight of them. He pressed after them as straight 
as the rugged ground would allow him. There was a big 
man on a big bay, a military exquisite on a light chestnut ; 
he could not shake them off. Nell kept wide of them and 
apparently fell more and more behind. 

Again Arthur rose to higher ground and again his view 
was extensive. His quick glance recognised the tumuli 
close at hand which had before attracted his attention. But 
no time for that. Following the vagaries of the scent the 
hounds had almost made the circuit of Loath Hill, and now 
came round its shoulder just in front of him, and full in 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 


47 


view careered over the undulating gorsey expanse of Oxton 
forest. Their tan and white ran through the vegetation 
like a bright weft through a sombre warp. The field was 
scattered over the country, here, there and everywhere, 
from Southwell road to Edingley lane. The master had 
got on deep ground, and was swearing and tearing round 
the other side of Horse-pasture Wood; Nell was at the 
back of the hill but she had not yet called upon her horse 
for what he was worth. Only the huntsman had stuck to 
the hounds. A little to their right-rear he rode on his great 
gaunt black. Arthur and the two who kept him company 
dashed down in mad pursuit. 

For two miles they galloped and the pace was fast. The 
rain beat in the riders’ faces ; they set their teeth and looked 
before them. The hounds’ music, the toot of the horn, 
the holloas of the men had ceased. No sound was in their 
ears but the thud of iron-shod hooves and the thump of 
their own hearts. The big bay that carried the big man 
fell behind ; the captain’s light chestnut put his foot in a 
rabbit hole and down he went a cropper. Arthur did not 
look back, and if he had done he would not have seen 
Nell who was hidden by the long low abrupt ridge which 
was always on his right hand ; but old Hasty was going 
mightily, for his mistress’s thought was his own, and he 
knew he had ground to make up. But Arthur saw only 
the hounds and the old huntsman. The old huntsman rode 
a little to the rear of them on his great gaunt black, not 
like mortal rider, rather like Death out a-hunting, lean, 
bent, imperturbable, not to be shaken off. 

Suddenly the huntsman was gone from before him — 
Arthur with his coat cuff wiped the rain from his eyes — 
gone as though he had sunk into the ground. A minute 
later the hounds themselves swerved as quick as a swallow’s 
change ; all together they wheeled, all together they disap- 


4 8 


FOREST FOLK 


peared, every head and every stern of them, downhill. 
Arthur with difficulty reined in his own and his mare’s im- 
petuosity, but thinking to follow found himself on the brow 
of a low but impracticable declivity, cliff more than hillock, 
the termination of the long ridge which had always been 
on his right hand ; and with savage disappointment he saw 
hunted animal and hunting animals racing away from him 
on the level ground below. Every hound had a voice. 

“ Tally-ho ! ” 

Nell’s shrill holloa came to him from beneath. He saw 
her not above a furlong off, and just behind her the old 
huntsman and his black. He was looking about for a safe 
way of descent, when lo ! the desperate fox again doubled, 
and scampered for dear life back along the banks of the 
streamlet which skirts the base of the cliff, and hard by is 
broadened out by a dam. The manoeuvre brought him 
considerably nearer to Arthur; in a straight line. But the 
straight line led down a break-neck steep which hardly prom- 
ised safe footing to a hasty pedestrian. But Nell was yon- 
der lessening the distance, Nell and behind her the hunts- 
man on his gaunt black. He saw and did not hesitate ; he 
would not go looking for a gap this time. His spur was 
remorseless, the mare had to obey though her discretion 
was so much greater than her master’s. Hopping, popping, 
skipping, slipping, stumbling, recovering, sluthering, puth- 
ering, hunge-plunge, down to the bottom she went, by mere 
force of gravity as it seemed ; stopped there a moment as 
though assuring herself that she was there, and then 
bounded forward. Again and yet again poor Reynard 
twisted and turned, desperate to choose his place of death, 
and got it at last in the clump willows on the other side of 
the dam. Only Arthur was in at it. 

Nell came next, then the old huntsman. There was no 
congratulation on her face or his. But soon the master 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 


49 


galloped up and stopped swearing complaint to swear ad- 
miration. By ones and twos others of the company strag- 
gled in, and their wonder was fervently expressed. They 
went in a body to view the spot, and one of them blazed a 
willow tree to mark it. Arthur remembered having ridden 
by the dam and the cliff on the day of his first arrival. But 
amid all that applausive babble Mr. Machin, who had 
trotted round by Bawford steps, said to another cautious 
oldster : 

“ I were mista’en ; once een’t enough.” 

“ Eh ? ” 

“ I lay ’im to brek ’is neck twice afore his eddication’s 
complete.” 

Joe Passon was silent ; perhaps not more silent than 
usual, that was scarcely possible, but more determinedly, 
more expressively silent. Until the master, noticing it, 
said to him : 

“Well, Joe, what do you think of this devilish extraor- 
dinary feat ? ” 

“ I warn’t bro’t up to circus ridin’,” answered the hunts- 
man ; u I’ve no opinion on’t at all.” 

C1 No opinion ? ” 

u Mebbe the mare hes. Ax her.” 

The rain thickened, the wet dripped from the brims of 
the men’s caps, from their noses, from their horses’ manes. 
The hounds were taken to Sansom Wood, but it was 
empty. The moorland to the south of it, already trav- 
ersed by Arthur on his first coming to Blidworth, was next 
drawn, but they did not see the colour of a fox until they 
got to some marshy ground in the neighbourhood of Cal- 
verton. It was a vixen, and she led them through Grimes- 
moor wet with the waters of the Dover Beck, up Brock- 
wood Hill, down Gonalston Hagg, by Thurgarton Park, 
and finally contrived to get lost on or near High Cross 


5 ° 


FOREST FOLK 


Hill above Goverton. That was the end of the day’s 
hunting. 

Arthur Skrene overtook Nell as she rode out of Gon- 
alston. He slackened the pace of his horse to hers and 
entered into chat with her; but her responses were brief. 

u Quite alone, Miss Rideout ? ” 

“ No.” 

The monosyllable was eked out by a friendly drop of 
the whip on old Hasty’s poll. 

u Oh, yes,” Arthur replied lightly, 44 he’s a remarkably 
clever old horse, but considered as company he leaves 
something to be desired.” 

M I hain’t fun’ it out.” 

44 For instance he can’t talk.” 

44 He don’t feel obliged to talk.” 

Arthur laughed. 

“That’s one for his two-legged inferior. Well — accept- 
ing the inferiority, and with it the compensatory license — 
have you enjoyed the day’s sport ? ” 

44 1 alius do, that’s what I come out for.” 

“ That last was a pretty good run too, though it’s disap- 
pointing not to have killed.” 

“Ay.” 

44 This wet has made the clay fearfully sticky.” 

“ Don’t it alius ? ” 

She never once looked at him ; she plainly was not in a 
talkative mood. Yet he would have been ashamed to set it 
down to jealousy of his success ; there were no signs of ill- 
temper about her, and the weather seemed hardly to have 
touched her person, not at all her spirits ; only the moist- 
ness of her disorderly locks had deepened their hue to red 
and rainy beads glittered among their twists and tangles. 
Her face was still glowing with the exercise, her eyes still 
shone, her lips were crimson. They rode in silence until 


WITH MR. PEPPER’S HOUNDS 


5i 


they reached Epperstone ; then she turned her grey eyes 
full on him, which being unexpected, its effect was the 
greater. 

“ A rider like yo, Mr. Skrene,” she said seriously, “ought 
to hae a very witty hoss.” 

He knew what she was at, and answered jestingly : 

“ It would be useless his having the wit, so long as I 
kept the whip.” 

She gave him another glance of her grey eyes and no 
more. 

w So I doubt,” she said ; and that seemed to be all. 

They rode on. 

“ I believe yon village on the left is Woodborough ? ” 
said Arthur. 

She pushed his question aside. 

U I don’t unnerstan’ such riding as yourn, that’s the 
truth. Yo refuse what yo might easily tek and tek what 
yo’re in duty bound to refuse.” 

<c Probably, Miss Rideout, there’s something in every 
man’s horsemanship to which you take exception.” 

“ Alius ; summat ; but when the helping’s so big I’m 
stawed afore I begin. Yo may vally your own neck raight, 
but a hoss has a neck too. M’appen yo owerlooked that i’ 
your hurry ? Yo’ve a raight to tek his opinion.” 

u Possibly he would advise me to stick to the highway.” 

u Sell him ; he’s none for hunting.” 

“ Or I might have a difficulty in ascertaining his opinion.” 

u Sell him again ; yo’re none for hunting. And buy an 
armchair.” 

He felt so firm in his seat he was scarcely disturbed in 
his self-opinion ; his amused urbanity was almost wholly 
sincere. 

“ You appear to have studied the subject most learnedly.” 

Cl I know noat but what I can’t help knowing.” 


52 


FOREST FOLK 


Where the hill begins to rise she leapt from her horse 
and began to walk beside him. So doing, she lifted the 
whip and pointed up-road. 

ct I’m obliged,” she said, “ to save oad Hasty on the road 
all I can, but yo’ve no call to accommodate your pace to 
hisn.” 

But Arthur dismounted also, and civilly hoped he might 
be allowed to keep her company so far as their roads were 
one. 

u I’m no company for yo,” she answered ; w no more 
nor my oad hoss is for your young mare.” 

Still Arthur was for lingering, urbanely persistent. 

“ But indeed, Miss Rideout, I shall take it unkindly of 
you if you dismiss me before my time.” 

She turned her eyes on him once more, and they were 
strangely hot with anger. 

u Yo may. I’ll hae no man goo out of his road for me 
no furder nor I’ll goo out o’ my road for him. And that’s 
not much.” 

He remounted, lifted his hat and trotted off in a very 
vile temper with the weather. Under which his main com- 
fort, oddly enough, was a recollective conviction that the 
huzzy’s hair was red after all ; when it was wet. 


CHAPTER V 


M don’t laugh ” 

Those were ill days for the handicraftsmen and espe- 
cially for the machine-workers of the towns. Napoleon’s 
decrees had fenced the continent off from English com- 
merce. Food was dear and wages scanty. The ill-taught 
operative turned his hunger and his anger into arms against 
his unhappy employer, especially against such as sought to 
keep level with the times by making goods either better or 
worse than the old patterns. About the time of the open- 
ing of our story the breaking of machinery by the so-called 
Luddites began at Nottingham, and had quickly spread to 
the neighbouring counties. In that town more soldiers 
were quartered than had ever before been found necessary to 
keep order in an English borough. Large rewards were 
offered both by the Corporation and the Government for 
testimony against the malefactors, but no check was put to 
their proceedings. Many of the affrighted manufacturers 
began to remove their machines to out-of-the-way villages, 
to Blidworth among others ; but the spoiler followed them 
thither. 

At Blidworth, to the common dislike of new things and 
the imported hatred of the condemned machinery, was 
added a local dissatisfaction with the parochial enclosure 
act, which was even then giving to the plough more than 
two thousand acres of common land. The restricted 
sportsman and loafer, the village politician so easily dis- 
pleased, the small freeholder who put a higher value on his 
rights of common than the Commissioners’ award did, 

53 


54 


FOREST FOLK 


joined voices, sometimes touched hands and exchanged 
drinks at the ale-house with the more dangerous schemer 
from Mansfield, Sutton-in-Ashfield or Arnold. No doubt 
in almost every case it was but a midnight sympathy re- 
pented of or forgotten next morning, but with Tant Rideout 
it was otherwise. An ill-satisfied commoner, somewhat of a 
politician, more of a poacher and loafer, he touched discon- 
tent at so many points. The voice of battle was in the air 
filling it with its far-off nearness, and he was a born fighter. 
It was hardly likely when throughout the land men were 
either throwing up their caps for victory after victory over- 
seas, or else hatching intestine broils, that he should remain 
content with dancing jigs and snaring rabbits, or even with 
an occasional victory in the ring over some ignoble com- 
petitor. He often regretted, aloud of course, the not dis- 
tant days when many a herd of deer, fallow or red, roamed 
the forest and the price of a man’s life was set upon their 
illicit destruction. He was hooked too, strange as it may 
seem, by his sentimental side. Though he disliked the 
drudgery of the farm he loved the brown and green and 
grey of the country, the smell of gorse, broom and ling, the 
play and the contention of the weather, while he contemned 
the town and the prison clank of its new-fangled iron 
labourer. All these smouldering combustibles needed but 
the waft of chance to bring them to a blazing activity ; and 
it was hardly likely they would want it. 

One or two acts of machine-breaking had already been 
committed in the neighbourhood of Blidworth, one or two 
had been frustrated by a timely garrisoning of the threatened 
workshops, more were apprehended ; there was a general 
feeling of expectation, which was for the most part fear. A 
number of special constables were sworn in to assist Tom 
White, constable and baker, in maintaining the authority 
of the law. The newly enrolled members of the Mansfield 


“DON’T LAUGH” 


55 


troop of Yeomanry Cavalry and the Oxton Volunteers were 
ordered to be in readiness for immediate service. What 
more could be done ? The Bow-street detective, then 
stationed at Nottingham, came and went away. 

To Arthur Skrene who like most well-to-do persons had 
a fine sense of legality and property, violence so destructive 
was abhorrent. He had joined the Yeomanry soon after 
his arrival, and as he had already gained some experience in 
a similar capacity in Kent, he was promoted to be sergeant. 
He set himself zealously to organise and drill the troopers 
of his own neighbourhood, and devised an effective system 
of intelligence, whereby on alarm given by night or day 
they might be summoned from their scattered dwellings, 
and speedily mustered at a convenient rendezvous. He 
had the more leisure for this because about the beginning of 
February after a season of open weather a four weeks’ frost 
set in ; the black earth was shut to the plough and there 
was no hunting. 

After their first hunt together he did not meet Nell Ride- 
out again until towards the end of the frost. He was out 
walking with his sister. Lois was not much of a walker, 
especially in the fields, the women of her day rarely were, 
but the hardness of the ground — no snow had fallen, and it 
was as dry and clean as any road — had permitted her to 
cross a few closes in her brother’s company, in order that 
she might enjoy the fine prospects to be viewed from differ- 
ent points. For only a few yards their path touched the 
bounds of the Low Farm; but in those few yards they met 
Nell coming from milking. 

“ Don’t laugh,” said Arthur hastily. 

Of herself Lois would never have thought of laughing. 
What she saw over the black leafless hedge with a back- 
ground of lowering sky was a superb head in a blue calico 
hood, poising a large kit of milk. It was like a glowing 


56 


FOREST FOLK 


picture hung all by itself against a dim dull wall. But what 
most affected her at the moment was the wonder and curi- 
osity raised by her brother’s strange injunction. She saw 
nothing whatever to laugh at ; but of course she looked for 
something and meant to find it. She was titter-ripe when 
a few yards further a sudden dip of the hedge and rise of 
the ground displayed Nell to her from head to foot; the 
old blue smock-frock, the thick boots, the clumsy gaiters, 
the wooden piggin ledged on her hip. The unexpected ex- 
pectedness of it gave her an irresistible inclination to laugh, 
in spite of, or perhaps — so whimsical a thing is laughter — 
all the more because of the woman’s eyes which were upon 
her, grave and grey. She had to turn away her head. 

u Good-day, Miss Rideout,” said Arthur. “ The frost 
holds.” 

“There’ll be a downfall afore long,” said Nell, and 
passed on. 

As soon as her back was turned Lois’s laughter spurted 
out ; not noisily but with dainty gush and gurgle, as of a 
tiny watercourse battling with sportive fury against ob- 
structive pebbles ; smooth white pebbles, crystalline water. 
For his life Arthur could not help accompanying it with a 
slight manly guffaw, almost wholly inward ; the back view 
especially of that conglomerate milkmaid, plough-boy and 
nymph, was delightfully incongruous. But as they stood 
thus looking and laughing, suddenly she gave them face in- 
stead of back. Immediately they were as grave as might 
be. She walked on. Hoping and believing she had not 
seen everything, they still stood looking after her, each 
secretly admiring the springiness of her gait under the 
heavy burden, the robust ease, the natural grace of her 
carriage, the effect of which her ridiculous costume did not 
lessen ; or if it lessened it to the eye it rather accentuated 
it to the understanding. At the same time Miss Skrene 


“ DON’T LAUGH ” 


57 


was a little jealous of her own admiration, and especially 
of the more or less conjecturable admiration of her brother; 
so what she said was neither the topmost nor the undermost 
of her feelings. 

u What a comical figure ! ” 

She followed the exclamation up with a little feminine 
click of tongue to palate ; and she laughed a second laugh, 
which was neither so natural nor so irresistible as the 
former. 

w But — in justice — what a grand head ! ” said Arthur. 
cc Grand tapioca ! ” exclaimed Lois, both her little furry 
gloves uplifted. “ She has red hair ! ” 

Arthur answered with that under-emphasis which so well 
expresses the unbiassed rebuke of the unjust by the just : 

“ I do not quite think, Lois — in fairness — that it is to be 

called red. Perhaps the light ” 

“ The light ? Oh yes ! Of course it’s the light. In 
the dark it’s a perfect black, isn’t it ? So are carrots. 
What a charitable way of disliking unusual colours. It’s 
the light ! How much you’ve learnt, dear Arthur, in the 
article of Christian charity since you travelled North ! I 
never heard you utter so kind an apology for Maria Simp- 
son’s conspicuous tresses.” 

u Miss Simpson’s hair is of a quite different hue, if I re- 
member rightly.” 

w A shade blacker perhaps.” 
u How strange the sun looks ! ” 

Arthur’s reference to the luminary, which redly over- 
hung the murky horizon like a ball of fire, was unfortunate. 

M Strange indeed ! ” exclaimed Lois. w I don’t remem- 
ber ever seeing it look so black.” 

u I think we had better be turning towards home,” said 
Arthur. 

After supper Nell sat on a cricket by the hearth roasting 


58 


FOREST FOLK 


her knees. She leant back against the chimney wall, but 
with less of languor in her expression and attitude than 
she commonly showed after the outdoor fatigues of the 
day. The grandmother sat opposite in her accustomed 
corner spinning. As the wheel hummed the twist of wool 
fashioned itself between her tremulous fingers. Tish sat a 
little withdrawn from the fire carding. The labourers 
were at the table prolonging their meal ; instead of con- 
versation the gritty grating of their heavy boots on the 
sanded floor kept company with the sounds of eating, the 
clatter of knife and fork, the champ of jaws, the smacking 
of lips, the gulping of liquid and solid. 

“ I seed Mr. Skrene’s sister this afternoon,” said Nell 
after a long interval. 

u What’s she like ? ” said Tish resting from her carding. 
“ They say she’s summat more nor ordinary nice-looking.” 

u She’s a little gallous dark-eyed thing heaped up wi’ 
clo’es.” 

“ Ay ? ” 

“ But they’re nice clo’es.” 
u What had she got on ? ” 
w I dunno.” 

u It’s about time yo began to tek some notice o’ sum- 
mat,” said Tish disappointed. u Yo’re oad enough. Any 
more meat, Bill ? ” 

“ A little bit,” said Spettigew thickly, with his mouth 
full. 

“ Yo hain’t no clo’es nowadays,” croaked the grand- 
mother; “yo’ve nubbut foldidols.” 

Tish liberally replenished Dick’s trencher. 
u I don’t want no more,” said the boy. 
u Yo mun eat it, to keep want away.” 
u I don’t want so much.” 

“ Yo eat it, iv’ry bit.” 


“ DON’T LAUGH ” 


59 


u She’d a fur cap on and a lot o’ fur all round her cloak,” 
said Nell, with much pains recollective. w Her cloak were 
crimson red.” 

“ I’m thinking,” said Tish, “ of haeing a fur trimming 
to my Sunday mantle next back-end. But I want to know 
first what’s the fashionable style. A bit more bread, Lam- 
bert, or some taters ? ” 

w Some more taters, please,” said Lambert, w an’ a bite 
o’ bread an’ all.” 

w I could ha’ holled her ower the hedge,” said Nell. 

“ So little as that comes to?” said Tish. “Well! 
But then her brother’s a little un.” 

u He’s not a big un, but he’s well set up j he looks well 
enough of hoss-back. But she is a little un.” 

“ What did she say to yer ? ” 

“ Noat.” 

u What did yo say to her ? ” 

“ Noat.” 

u Yo couldn’t have said much less. But I don’t call it 
manners to pass a neighbour wi’out ayther a good word or 
a bad un ; nayther manners nor Christian fellership. Yo 
remember oad Hollins, as used to swear at dad ivery time 
he seed him ? We alius considered him a friendlier sort o’ 
person nor that young Snooks as niver said noat.” 

The men had finished eating, as the simultaneous push- 
ing back of their chairs announced. Nell came from the 
chimney, her face hot with the fire. She took down from 
the wall a man’s jacket and hat and put them on. 

u Where are yer gooing ? ” said Tish. 

w To look round a bit. I shall want yo, Spettigew, to 
carry the lantern for me.” 

Spettigew made an inarticulate grunt, such as a tired 
animal might at an unexpected demand upon him. He 
nevertheless reached down the heavy horn lantern from its 


6o 


FOREST FOLK 


shelf and lighted the candle therein. , Lambert made clumsy 
speed to sidle through the door in the midst of a hasty 
u Good-night, all.” Dick followed with his last unwilling 
mouthful in his mouth. 

Nell took down her hunting crop from its nail. 
u What do yer want that for ? ” asked Tish. 

“ I dunno. I’m tekking it against I want it.” 

With the crop she unhooked her old blue smock-frock 
which hung beside it, and let it fall to the ground. 

“ I shan’t wear that no more,” she said. u Yo may gie’t 
to oad Neddy Cliff.” 

w An’ why ? ” asked Tish. 
w It’s too oad for oat.” 

w Yo’re getting strange an’ partic’lar all of a sudden.” 
w I’m no more partic’lar nor other folk; yo can’t say I 
am. Yo may wear it yoursen, if you like. And I mean 
to get my next bonnet at Mansfield ; Betsy Porter gies us 
noat new.” 

So saying she went out before Tish had gathered her- 
self to answer, followed heavily by Spettigew with the 
lantern. 


CHAPTER VI 


THE RIGHT OF WAY 

THREE-quarters of an hour later Arthur Skrene sat 
reading what the Nottingham Journal had to say of the in- 
troduction into the House of Lords of “ A Bill for the 
more exemplary punishment of persons found guilty of 
destroying stocking and lace frames ” (by death to wit, with- 
out benefit of clergy). He had not done pishing at his 
lordship of Newstead’s humane expostulation, when he 
was called forth from his snug parlour into the chill hall to 
speak to Selby, his foreman. 

u Theer’s summat, sir,” he said, “ which it behooves me 
to dror yer attention to.” 

“ Where, Selby ? ” 

“ Outside,” said Selby, with his oracular thumb north- 
west by west. 

He was a large-built man, painstakingly slow. 

M Will it take my attention long ? ” 

“ Can’t undertek to say, sir. I seed it from my door.” 

Arthur put his hat on and followed his man out into the 
crew-yard. It was a dark night. The wind had got up a 
little and blew fluttering flakes of snow into his fire-warm 
face ; which made him think of Nell Rideout, who had 
foretold it. 

“ In Hither Cluss, sir,” said Selby. 

Instantly he forgot Nell Rideout, for across the neigh- 
bouring field, and not above a hundred yards off, he saw a 
light; and from the same quarter came the sound of blows 
dully falling, as of iron upon wood. 

61 


62 


FOREST FOLK 


“ What’s that ? ” he asked. 

“ I can’t say, sir.” 
u We must go and see.” 

u Unless it’s somebody interfairin’ wi’ the gate.” 
u Who should that be ? ” 
w I can’t undertek to say.” 

“Fetch Harris and Wells and come after me. Tell 
Charley to saddle Vixen.” 

“ Unless it’s them drotted Rideouts.” 

But Selby brought this out with his usual deliberation, so 
that it was lost upon his more impetuous master who was 
already twenty yards off. 

There was undoubtedly a way of a sort by means of a gate 
from Low Farm through High Farm to the Oxton road j but 
whether there was a right of way by it had always been in 
dispute. Why that gate should break the continuity of the 
hedge if it were not meant to open as well as shut, had never 
been satisfactorily explained by owner or tenant of High 
Farm. Likewise the Rideouts, if right of way they had, 
were unable to show how they became entitled to it, and 
above all could not point to a time when they enjoyed un- 
disturbed use of it. Altogether it was a very pretty quarrel, 
which it is not my intention to spoil by settling. The pas- 
sage was guarded by two or three intermediate gates, 
which were usually kept locked ; when there was any- 
thing of them to lock. In the lambing season, during the 
long harvest time, or when the shorn land was asking for 
the plough, the Rideouts had generally been too busy to 
trouble themselves about the enforcement of an easement 
which was of little or no practical value to them ; but in 
the intervals when there was some slackening of toil, when 
the last lamb had been dropped, when the harvest cart had 
been led home in triumph, and especially when the plough 
was frost-bound, the wild youngsters of the last generation 


THE RIGHT OF WAY 


6 3 

had looked on a little gate-smashing as a profitable and en- 
joyable way of filling the vacancy. Many a fight had there 
been, many a rail broken and many a head, but when all 
was over the bits of the gate were put together again and a 
new lock bought. 

The neighbours, whose only interest was in the discrim- 
ination of right from wrong, were continually advising both 
parties with contradictory encouragement to go to law. 
But they never did ; I cannot say for certain why ; there 
were not then by a hundred to one so many largely promis- 
ing investments for spare cash as there are nowadays. 
Only there had been a lawsuit at Blidworth a little time 
before about a similar easement ; both plaintiff and defend- 
ant were then on the parish and their property, including 
the still disputed right of light, was in other hands; a strik- 
ing example of the impartial thoroughness of English 
justice. 

After the death of Nell’s father the Rideouts had shown 
a lessened zeal in the maintenance of their claim ; Nell was 
at first too young and then too busy, Tant too indolent 
and negligent. But there had been some tussles, and how 
Tish Gillot had horse-whipped a couple of stalwart labour- 
ers from end to end of Nether Field was still talked of. 
Arthur Skrene however knew nothing of all that ; he gave 
not a thought to the half-understood hint which Nell had 
dropped on the day of his arrival ; his mind was full of 
machine-breaking ; he had no doubt it was some attempt of 
the same lawless ruffians whom he had routed out of Cal- 
verton the night before. 

It was dark ; the wind blew the ever-increasing snow- 
flakes into his eyes. He saw nothing on either hand of 
him, as he hastened across the field, but the shapes dimly 
apparent of two or three giant oaks. Before him was ever 
the small clear shine as of a lantern, and about it two 


6 4 


FOREST FOLK 


moving shadows without form, one however larger than the 
other. The sound of blows and of the splintering of wood 
had ceased before he came up. 

“ Who are you,” he cried ; M and what are you doing 
here ? ” 

There was no answer. He made straight for the light. 
The shadow which seemed connected with it fell back. 

u I demand to know what you want here ? ” said Arthur 
again. 

U I want noat,” answered a man’s rough sullen obstinate 
voice from over the lantern. 

Arthur was then near enough to see distinctly the dirty 
old gaiters and coarse stockings of the man who held it. 
Some scatterings of light fell also on a shattered gate and 
on the stout forequarters, white below the knees, of a horse 
which was stepping through the gate-stead, but barely in- 
dicated his nodding head and the masculine appearance of 
his rider. Arthur sprang forward, seized the horse by what 
harnessed its head, and careless of his own danger began to 
back it. The somebody in the saddle urged it forward 
with strokes of the whip, but Arthur, who had now gath- 
ered the reins into his hands, hung all his weight upon the 
bit and held the advantage. The lantern by a chanced or 
purposed deflection was turned from them, and only illu- 
minated an unimportant bit of hedge, and the glistening 
snowflakes which began to rest upon it. So they struggled 
in the dark and the silence, for no word was uttered on 
either side. The animal, which was evidently of no high 
temper, plunged a little under its rider’s urgency, but was 
being steadily pushed back; until Arthur, who was afraid 
the other man might come to the rescue, let go the bridle 
and seized its rider by the leg. But almost before he knew 
whether he had laid hold of leather or prunella, he felt a 
smart blow on the arm. He was furious ; he made a spring 


THE RIGHT OF WAY 


65 


to seize his assailant’s whip-hand. It was withdrawn from 
him by a quick upward movement ; then came down again, 
whip and all. The blow glanced off his uplifted arm and 
alighted on his head. He was half-stunned by it, and what 
he did next must have been a piece of undirected animal 
savagery. The horse moved on leaving something in his 
grip ; but the first things he was fully conscious of were 
the rider dragged to the ground and a heavy hunting crop 
in his own hands, but how done and gotten he hardly 
knew. His blood was up, his fury mixed with his strength 
like a terrible momentary drug, doubling it. He kept his 
antagonist at arm’s length and made free use of the weapon. 
The man with the lantern hung back and gave his associate 
neither help nor encouragement. The latter made a resist- 
ance, fierce and brief, but taken at a disadvantage, dis- 
armed, as it would seem disconcerted, and somehow ham^ 
pered, suddenly ceased to struggle, stood stock-still as though 
resolved to take the punishment passively. 

It must be confessed that Arthur’s temper just then was 
next to cruelty ; only let it be remembered that a blow 
which 'deadens the more intellectual activities of a brain can 
hardly do so without lessening the moral restraints also. 
All at once the silent butt of his indignation uttered a cry, 
a woman’s cry, of angry pain, and fled away like a swift 
black shadow. Just then Selby came up with Harris and 
Wells, armed with shadowy forks and sticks. It will never 
be exactly known how much her flight was on their ac- 
count, how much through the unbearableness of the whip 
and the shame. 

For the moment Arthur was numbed, as though he had 
received another weightier blow in the same place ; he 
dropped the crop. When he recovered himself he was sick 
at heart, as after a physical shock. He turned to his men 
and said : 


66 


FOREST FOLK 


u You may go back; you are not wanted.” 

His manner was imperious; they obeyed without a word. 
Then he hastened after the lantern-holder who was making 
a heavy-footed retreat towards Low Farm, and overtook 
him half-way down the close. 
u Stay ! ” he cried. 

And the man stayed after a step or two; not so much 
like a man who does not fear as like one who knows that 
he is out-paced. 

<c Who was it ? ” said Arthur. 
u Who was what ? ” asked the man stolidly. 

The light of the lantern wandered about his botched 
foot-gear, the frost-bitten wheat and the gathering snow 
that flecked it. 

u On that horse. What person was it ? ” 

w If yer don’t know ” 

u I do not,” said Arthur. 

But he denied as men deny on affidavit, which the 
lawyer draws and they only sign. His shame was his 
lawyer. 

“Then ’twere their Nell,” said the man, with a half- 
seen jerk of the hand towards Low Farm. 

Arthur was shocked again, and doubly, as men are at the 
hearing of what they know. 

u Why came she here ? What was she doing here ? ” 
But babbling why and what he did not wait for the an- 
swer; he now remembered perfectly what Nell had prom- 
ised about the gates at their first meeting ; he chose rather 
to put himself at a little distance by turning fiercely on the 
man. 

“ Why didn’t you defend her ? ” 
u I’m not paid for that.” 

w You coward ! She’s your mistress ; you ought to have 
let yourself been killed first.” 


THE RIGHT OF WAY 


6 7 


w Sixpence a day,” said the man with the sobriety of in- 
disputable argument, “ sixpence a day an’ what the parish 
’lows me wain’t pay for all that. Besides she een’t my 
missis now ; she gied me the sack a month agoo for cornin’ 
five minutes late — by her danged clock, an’ now I’m on 
the parish. I’ve nubbut coom to her by houze-row for two 
or three days ; I shall come to yo a Monday.” 
u You coward ! you miserable slave ! ” 
w Coward I don’t think noat to, there’s a many o’ the 
same sex at Blid’orth ; but I’ve no raight to be called a 
slave, not by nubbudy, it’s again the law, I’m a English- 
man.” 

u You stood by and looked on ! ” 

“ She’s noat to mq.” 

“You wouldn’t lift a finger to help her ! ” 
u Not I ; not my least little finger.” 

“You didn’t even speak a word for her.” 

“ Why suld I ? She’s got a tongue of her own.” 

“You ought to have shouted out, ‘Shame on you; it’s a 
woman ! ’ ” 

“I tho’t a tanning ud improve ’er; there’s main few 
women but what it does.” 

“ Since you wouldn’t fight for her you shall for yourself. 
Up with your hands ! ” 

Arthur set upon him with as hearty an appetite as though 
he were battling against his own self-condemnation. 
Spettigew dropped the lantern but hardly got his mind and 
his fists squared for combat; on the instant he was cuffed 
out of all thought of self-defence, if he had any, by the 
fury of the onset. He turned tail and fled laboriously 
across the wheat at a lumpish jog that was almost a trot. 
Arthur pursued, pommelling him. 

“ Lemme goo, mester,” said the man ; “ I’m suppered 
up.” 


68 


FOREST FOLK 


“Why couldn’t you say as much for her, you mean- 
spirited wretch ? Begone with you ! ” 

The labourer made no sort of answer but turned and 
went on his lumpish way. Arthur took up the swaling 
lantern and returned to the place where he and she — ter- 
rible pronouns ! — had encountered. He looked the shat- 
tered gate over, noted the trampling of the crops round and 
about with the reckoning mien of a man taking an in- 
ventory ; but his thoughts were elsewhere. He picked the 
whip up, first looking round involuntarily to see if he were 
alone. He walked towards the Oxton road as if with the 
intention of examining the condition of the gate there, 
stopped half-way and looked up-wind, as if interested in the 
weather. Faster and faster fell the snow. She had 
promised it. He turned his back on it as though he felt it, 
and struck straight across towards the lights of his house. 
On the way he heard a horse’s champing and the jingling 
of steel. He turned aside and found it was Nell’s horse 
which had strayed thither, and was grazing as unconcerned 
about her misadventure as her man had been. He took it 
by the bridle and led it towards Low Farm. He found the 
Second gate also broken. 

“ The Devil take the man!” he ejaculated. u Why 
couldn’t he let me be ? ” 

He must have meant Selby. 

The snow fell faster and faster ; the night grew darker 
and darker. When he had crossed the little brook which 
divided the farms and was nearing the house, it would seem 
he needed to have doubts. He uplifted the lantern so that 
it made a flickering patch of light on the horse’s back. It 
was indeed a side-saddle. He walked on leading the horse, 
none too fast. But it would seem he had another thought, 
which just then meant another doubt. A half-light de- 
ceives men’s eyes; especially on a winter’s night when the 


THE RIGHT OF WAY 


69 


candle swales and its rays tremble like a crowd of liars. 
He set down the lantern for a moment and put forth the 
hand which held it. Two stirrups on the near side. He 
walked on siower than ever. 

A little further and the light of the lantern feebly travel- 
ling before him showed him Nell leaning on the gate of the 
croft with her back to him. She was sobbing, sobbing as 
those only do who sob in the night and think themselves 
alone. He stopped, he would have gone softly back, but 
she was speedily aware of the light behind her and sprang 
into erectness. He then came forward leading the horse. 
Her face glistened wet, her dress was disordered, her atti- 
tude proud. She had lost her hat and the snow speckled 
her hair, which showed black, as Lois had foretold it 
would. He recollected that she had. So men mix 
trivialities with untrivial moments. 

u Miss Rideout,” he began, w Pm exceedingly 
sorry ” 

“Yo nedn’t be, yo've lost noat.” 

There was a sniff; then the tears were gone from the 
voice, if not from the eyes. 

u That’s our lantern, I believe.” 

She took it from him and immediately extinguished it. 
Then we may believe if we will that her composure was 
complete. 

u I think I can own that hoss too.” 

She received the reins from Arthur. 

“ If I’d bro’t Hasty i’stead o’ this lump o’ lead ” 

But she did not pursue the supposition; and Arthur 
without a word put the whip too into her hand. He had 
to get rid of it. 

“ What’s this ? Oh, ay ! I ought to know the feel 
on t. 

Arthur was compelled to speak. 


7 o 


FOREST FOLK 


u Miss Rideout, I beg your pardon.” 
u Yo nedn’t; I don’t yo for that clinker I gied yer. It 
was a clinker.” 

As though the recollection of it somewhat consoled her. 
“It certainly was, if that means something hard and 
heavy. But I beg you to believe I hadn’t the least sus- 
picion whose hand it came from.” 

w I reckon yo moot be strange furriners i’ th’ parts yo 
come from. We alius hae suspicions, at Blid/orth, about 
gates; as many suspicions as the gate has rails. I should 

like to know ” 

u What is it ? ” 

u What yo’d ha’ done if yo’d knowed ? ” 
w Nothing.” 

“ I’m main glad yo didn’t know.” 
u I shan’t lock them any more.” 

u Please yoursen ; I shall goo by the lane ; it’s a better 
road, and gainer if oat. Come up ! ” 

That to the horse, whom she began immediately to lead 
away. But she stopped as soon as she was no more than a 
flat shadow to Arthur, and added : 

u I’m sorry — no, I ain’t sorry. All the same I didn’t 
mean to rap yer ower the head.” 

M Thank you,” said Arthur; u it certainly had me at my 
weakest.” 

He thought he heard a little sniff ; which might have 
been either the weaker recurrence of a sob or the uncertain 
beginning of a laugh. She disappeared into the dark. 


CHAPTER VII 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 

“Where hae yer been all this gret while ? ” 

So said Tish to Nell on her reentry, and she looked up 
from the man’s grey stocking that she was darning by the 
candle. Tant was there too ; he sat on a cricket putting a 
new thornwood swipple to a flail. 

“1 telled yer; looking round.” 

“ Feeling round, I suld think yer mean ; it’s as dark as 
pitch.” 

“ Feeling round then. I lay that brucken-mouthed oad 
yowe to lamb to-morrer.” 

“ Why, yer clo’es is all torn to jim-rags ! Yo might ha 
been dragged through and through a haythorn hedge.” 

“ It’s a rough night.” 

“ Rough ? Yo’ve soon dallicked that frock up. They 
might be easy come by.” 

“Tek care o’ yer own frocks, our Tish, and I’ll tek 
care o’ mine.” 

With that Nell went across to her favourite lounge 
against her grandmother’s knee. Tant looked at her with 
stealthy curiosity but said nothing. 

Next morning Nell felt sore and stiff but drove herself to 
her work. After she returned from milking she got Spetti- 
gew in a quiet corner of the barn, where he was tying 
wheat straw into bats, and spoke seriously to him. 

“ Mind yo don’t tell nobody about last night ; Tish nor 
your wife nor nobody.” 

“ All raight,” said Spettigew with that sulky down-look- 
71 


72 FOREST FOLK 

ing way of his to her; “I’m no talker. Whitefoot’s 
dropped a shoe.” 

“ If yo do I’ll be even wi’ yer. How did yer happen by 
that black eye ? Drunk and faighting, I suppose.” 

Spettigew eyed her askance. 

“No, I warn’t.” 

“ How then ? ” 

“Same road as yo got what yo got.” 

A clumsy sidelong jerk of his head seemed to be directed 
up-hill towards High Farm. Nell got the next words out 
with difficulty. 

“ Mr. Skrene ? ” 

“ Ah.” 

“ Why?” 

“For a crackpot’s reason; becos I didn’t shove my 
shou’ders atween your back an’ his whip. Would he a laid 
on any lighter, I wunner ? I reckon not. An’ what thanks 
would yo a gien me for interfacin' ? ” 

“ The same most likely as he gied yer for not interfairing.” 

“ Then I were safe of a black oy any’ow. But ’twere a 
faight ; I didn’t stan’ an’ be smulled ; I gied ’im a sour 
thump or two. Am I to tek ’er to the smith ? ” 

Nell did not allow him to hang about the house ; as soon 
as he had breakfasted and taken Whitefoot to be shod, she 
sent him off to the sheep on the snow-covered turnips. 
But it was not in her nature to maintain a close supervision 
over him, or to resort to petty scheming to keep him at a 
distance. In the afternoon when she was away milking, he 
was in the cow-hovel with Tant tending the broken- 
mouthed old ewe and her new-born lambs. Tish came 
round in pattens with a Paisley shawl on her head and spoke 
to him over the half-door. He was getting one lamb to suck 
while Tant rubbed the bleating latest-born down with straw. 

“ What were yo an’ Nell doin’ last night, Spettigew ? ” 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 


73 


“Just lookin’ round; she said so hersen.” 
u Listen to me, my man ; when I ax yo a question, I 
don’t want somebody else’s answer.” 

u Dang the little varmin ; I don’t believe it iver will 
soock.” 

w Leave it be a minute and attend to me.” 

“ She telled me not to tell.” 

u I tell yer to tell. Weigh that again the tother.” 

He sulkily hung his head over the ewe’s back. 
u It’s no consarn o’ mine. I’ve got a black oy a’ready 
ower it.” 

Tish opened the halfVdoor and came in ; that was for 
rejoinder. 

“ Now, out wee’t ; wi’out any more arley-parleying.” 
u We went to oppen them gates,” he answered with 
sulky reluctance, bending obstinately over the trembling 
new-born thing. 

w If I didn’t think ! And did yer oppen ’em ? ” 
u Three on ’em.” 

“ And why not all fower on ’em ? ” 

“ Becos we got stopped.” 

“ Who stopped yer ? ” 

“ He did.” 

“ By hissen ? ” 

“Not likely; there were five men at the back on ’im. 

He gied me this black oy, the .” 

“William Spettigew, if yo dare to use such language 
afore me, I’ll bang your back wi’ the shaft o’ this fork.” 
She took the hay-fork up in readiness. “ I let yer to know 
this een’t the Lay Cross.” 

“ I didn’t say it to yo, I said it to him.” 

Tant laughed. 

“I’ll lay a tanner yo didn’t, Bill. Yo said ‘sir’ to him 
and — to huz.” 


74 


FOREST FOLK 


Tish brought down the shaft a sounding thwack upon 
Tant’s broad shoulders. 

“ If yo wain’t be said ! ” 

Tant moved neither muscle nor feature. 

u I think this’n ’ll do,” he said. “ Stan’ ’im up t’other 
side the yowe, Bill.” 

“Yo’ve telled uz all about your black eye,” said Tish; 
“ yo hain’t telled uz what happened Nell.” 

w He dragged her offn the hoss an’ lammed into ’er wi’ 
a gret long whip ; while she screeted out ; then ’e stopped.” 

Tant swore a loud oath; Tish forgot the promised pun- 
ishment. 

u Which on ’em ? ” he roared. 

“ The mester; the tothers didn’t do noat but ho’d me 
off.” 

u That warn’t much of a sweater, Bill, for five men,” 
said Tant. 

His hands lapsed into his breeches pockets and himself 
into his usual careless demeanour. 

“ I nubbut wish I’d been there,” said Tish still grasping 
the fork. 

“I’m thinkin’ o’ bein’ there,” said Tant. 

And he began sweetly to whistle “ Cherry Ripe.” 

I fancy it was some sort of consolation to Nell that 
Spettigew had a black eye against her sore back and shoul- 
ders ; but it had not prevented her getting stiffer and still 
stiffer as the day advanced, until she could hardly lift hand 
to head or set one foot before the other. When she came 
home from milking she strove with painful courage to put 
an air of briskness on, but she did not deceive Tish’s in- 
structed eye. 

“ What meks yer drawl yer feet so ? ” she said. 

u I’m a bit stiff.” 

C4 What’s that wi’ ? ” 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 


75 


“ I may ha’ ta’en co’d.” 

“ Yo’ve ta’en co’d afore now, but it niver made yer walk 
so hotchelling. Yo seem as lissom as a cow-crib. What’s 
done that gret bruise on yer arm ? ” 

w I must ha’ joled it again summat.” 

“Yo must ha’ joled it hard.” 

“ I did.” 

Tant and Tish exchanged glances. 

u Get yer to the fire,” said the latter, “ and warm some 
o’ that co’d out on yer. Tant ’ll carry the kit and help me 
sile it.” 

“ There’s no occasion,” said Nell, “ for Tant to be 
doing dairy work, whilst hay wants cutting and all them 
beast wants fothering.” 

“They mun wait on me,” said Tant; “as they’ve 
waited many a time afore.” 

So saying, with his irresistible hands he took the milk 
from her and carried it before Tish into the dairy. Nell 
made no vain resistance ; she walked to the chimney and 
lay down on the hearth. 

“What ails ta, child ? ” said the grandmother, who blind 
and hard of hearing was all the more finely alive to other 
differences. “ It moot be the rheumatics for sartain-lye. 
Dear-a-dear ! Thee mun drink milk hot from the cow i’ 
th’ mornin’, wi’ nubbut a little bawm in’t.” 

Tant stopped at home that evening and worked with a 
will. Nell consequently was relieved of many an outdoor 
task which generally fell to her share. After the men were 
gone he even condescended to housework, carried the re- 
mains of the bread and meat into the dairy, and showed 
unexpected talent in removing and folding up a table-cloth. 
Tish was scornful though she let him do. 

“ Yo nubbut want petticoats and napern, lad, to be as 
gret a wench as any trolly i’ Blid’orth.” 


?6 


FOREST FOLK 


Tant laughed and continued to wipe knife and platter. 

w If yo can find me petticoats,” he said, “ long enough 
to hide my ankles decently, I unnertake to wear ’em. I 
shan’t be the fowest wench i’ th’ family nayther.” 

As for Nell in spite of the aching of her sides it was the 
pleasantest evening she had spent for many a day ; for 
when the work was done they all drew to the fire, which 
Tant had heaped up with coal and wood. The hum of 
the grandmother’s wheel was like drowsy distant music, 
to which the bassoon-like roaring of the chimney sang 
bass. Tant, seeming to be doing nothing, quickly toused 
out with his strong dexterous fingers the tangled sheep’s 
beltings, which Tish was carding and the grandmother 
spinning into yarn, which presently he would take and plait 
into thick twists for mops. And while he picked, hardly 
looking at his fingers, he talked with that lively tongue of 
his of the doings and sayings of the parish, of Tom Cribb, 
of a wonderful pointer of Colonel Thornton’s, and of the 
army in the Peninsula. Nell sat and listened. Tish’s 
harsher voice rating him and her at intervals was like the 
proper dash of pepper in a savoury dish. 

Only once he spoke with a passing seriousness, only 
once he roused Nell, but not to speak. It was when he 
was describing with considerable knowledge and power the 
storming of Ciudad Rodrigo. All at once he stopped in 
the midst; he was speaking of the fall of Captain Hardy- 
man of the 45th ; he leant back, he ceased picking and 
said moodily : 

u Why ain’t I hacking Frenchmen i’stead o’ tunnips ? 
doing the work of a Johnny Whop-straw, and doing it 
badly ? ” 

He cast the wool from him across the room. 

u Yourn’s a safer employment anyhow,” said Tish. 

“ Safer ? Much o’ that ! ” 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 


77 


He got up and stretched his legs. He looked very tall 
standing over the fire. The red blaze stained his hands 
but did not reach his face. 

w I tell yer a man’s never so safe as when he’s faighting 
i’ th’ oppen ; and he’s never so dangerous as when he’s 
idling at home.” 

u Your Uncle George,” said the grandmother’s trem- 
ulous voice, w died o’ th’ yaller fever i’ th’ West Indies ; 
your Uncle Jim were reported missing — that were in 
Americay — an’s niver bin heerd on sin ; your Uncle Ben 
died faighting black men wi’ Colonel Sherbrooke at — I for- 
get the name on’t ; there were a many queer outlandish 
marks on the letter as bro’t the news. Home’s a safer 
place a deal, lad.” 

“ Dad died theer.” 

“’Twere God’s will. And his mother laid ’im out.” 

The grandmother said no more ; her wheel did not hum 
while she sat remembering and forgetting. Tant sat down 
again, picked up more beltings from the floor, and returned 
to his rustic tales of little import. 

“Josh Jowers were i’ th’ stocks again a Monday.” 

u Drunk of coorse,” said Tish. 

“ Ay, he’s too oad to find a new road to ’em ; if there 
were any partic’lar need. Hosspool seed ’im in ’em an’ 
gied ’im the time o’ day. Two or three hours later Hoss- 
pool passes again and says, c Why, yo’re still here ! ’ c Ay,’ 
says Josh, c I’m no starter.’ ” 

So his talk flitted from sense to nonsense, and presently 
the spinning wheel began to hum again. 

Tant remained at home the next morning too, though it 
was Sunday, and took his full share and more in the indis- 
pensable labour of the farm. But about ten o’clock he 
strolled off. Ordinarily he was particular how he appeared 
outside the gate upon Sundays and other holidays, but on 


78 


FOREST FOLK 


that day he was satisfied to go forth in the roughest of his 
workaday wear, an old low-crowned hat, botched half- 
boots, grey knitted stockings, leathern breeches and an old 
sleeved waistcoat of dark brown fustian, but no coat. The 
frost had given, the wet snow coldly and brokenly reflected 
the uncertain sun, but the air was of a damp despondent 
chilliness. Famished blackbirds flew late from under the 
hedges at his approach and made no outcry. At his heels 
followed his white terrier and he carried a long-lashed whip. 

The way he took was across his neighbour’s land through 
the gates which Spettigew’s hatchet had broken. There 
had been no attempt to repair them or otherwise fence the 
way. His going was leisurely ; it almost seemed as though 
he hoped to be intercepted. His hands were in his pockets, 
his whip tucked under his arm, he whistled blithely all the 
way, and stopped every now and then to consider a hare’s 
track in the snow or in the air a kestrel’s pounce and hover, 
hover and pounce. But intercepted he was not though he 
thus lounged along in the most leisurely manner, and though 
Selby crossed the adjoining enclosure in front of him, and 
might have seen him had he wished. He espied the haft 
of Spettigew’s hatchet sticking up out of the slushy snow 
with the Rideout brand upon it. He laid it under the 
hedge and went on. He found the gate on to the road 
whole but unlocked ; whereat he seemed to be much sur- 
prised, perhaps a little disappointed. However he walked 
down the road keeping his eyes upon the house and its 
precincts ; nobody came out of it, nobody was about ; he 
heard not a voice, no sound but the jealous bark of the 
watch-dog. There was a large wooden gate at the head 
of the short carriage-drive which curved round to the front 
door; he perched himself on its top rail, rested his feet on 
the second rail, which brought his knees up next his nose, 
and waited. 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 


79 


At least he did nothing else ; though it was not a pleas- 
ant morning either for sitting or standing out of doors. 
The wet dripped on him from the twisted limbs of an an- 
cient oak which towered over the entrance ; the brightness 
of day, such as it was, seemed rather to come from the 
ground than the sky. Yet for an hour he sat there and did 
not seem to feel either cold or damp or tedium. The ter- 
rier kept going a little way down the road and returning ; 
he sniffed at the snow and looked wistfully at his master. 

Tant was still there when Arthur Skrene, who was to 
dine with his sister at a neighbour’s, came out of the house. 
He walked up and down the well-swept drive two or three 
times without appearing to see Tant. But Tant saw him 
and got what enjoyment he might out of the elegant figure 
he made. He was freshly shaven, and had his dark hair 
brushed back and knotted into the neatest of clubs, which 
was properly crowned with a glossy beaver. At the other 
extremity of his town-made overcoat he wore highly-pol- 
ished top-boots, glistening rivals of the snow. His hands 
were handsomely gloved and carried between them the bur- 
den of a silver-headed rattan. 

But at his third turn Arthur lounged quite up to the 
gate ; where we may suppose that he first became conscious 
of Tant’s presence ; whom probably he knew by sight 
though he had never had the slightest intercourse with him. 

“A fine morning,” said Arthur, just civil. 

“That’s as it turns out,” said Tant, hardly that. 

Arthur put his hand upon the sneck, but Tant’s twelve 
stones and a half had so weighed the gate-head to the 
ground that it was scotched. 

“ Be good enough to descend,” said Arthur. 

Tant neither moved nor spoke. 

u Get down,” said Arthur, less civilly ; u I want to pass 
through.” 


8o 


FOREST FOLK 


“ It hardly follers yo’ll pass if I do get down,” said 
Tant. 

Arthur took him by the leg and pulled him off. The 
change was instantaneous, immense, from the loutish loose- 
strung lounger to the superb fighting-man, coolly alert, with 
a wary but a fiery eye and tremendous reach of arm. He 
presented the handle of the long-lashed whip, saying : 

“ I’ve bro’t yer a whip.” 

“ I don’t fight with whips.” 

tc On’y again lasses ? ” 

Arthur wasted no more words ; undismayed, perhaps at 
bottom not sorry to let the blood of his hurt pride, he 
pulled off his gloves, threw under-and over-coat across the 
gate, carelessly cast his trim beaver aside on the snow, and 
stood prepared. 

“We halve the sun,” said Tant. 

But he seemed to be struck by the smaller man’s fearless 
demeanour. 

u M’appen yo think,” he said, “ as it’s no fair match ? ” 

4t I’ve expressed no dissatisfaction,” answered Arthur 
stiffly. 

“ If yo feel any yo’ve nubbut to say c a fine mornin’ 
for a walk,’ and I see a rabbit i’ th’ next cluss as needs my 
partic’lar attention. Here, Pitcher ! ” The terrier sprang 
up all alert from his apprehensive ears to his up-curled tail. 
“ What d’yer think to him for a tarrier ? He’s second in 
descent from Colonel Thornton’s Pitch.” 

u You’ve no right,” said Arthur haughtily, w to find a 
rabbit either in the next close or the next close but one or 
the next close but two.” 

“True! But afore yo stan’ so strong on your raight, 
mek sure as yo can stan’ on your feet.” 

He put himself to his guard with his right hand, but hid 
his left behind his back, as though to make his opponent a 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 


81 


contemptuous gift of half his skill and strength. Arthur 
perceiving it did the like. 

u I see,” said Tant with a little more respect in his tone, 
“ yo’re one o’ them as would sooner loase an even set-to 
than win a handicap. I would mysen. Well, I’ve no 
raight to insult yer as well as lick yer.” 

He brought his left hand again to the front, and the fight 
proceeded on equal conditions. The sole spectator was a 
robin, which from the high vantage of the ancient oak 
with head on one side studied the peculiar ways of men. 

Arthur as we have seen possessed considerably more 
strength than his bulk promised, and he fought with a fierce 
impetuous courage, dashing in blow after blow, which how- 
ever were easily warded off by his skilled antagonist. Tant 
played his game, for a game it seemed to be to him, with 
scientific coolness, only hitting out every now and then ; 
but when he did it was a knock-down blow. Thrice 
Arthur was floored, thrice he rose to continue the combat 
with unbroken spirit though diminished vigour ; but the 
fourth time he lay awhile winded, blinded, spent. And as 
he lay Miss Skrene came forth buttoning the last button of 
her second glove. The little slim dainty creature, trimly 
velveted and furred, not a hair out of place under the wide 
brim of her bonnet, came along so intent on that last 
button that she mistook Tant for her brother. 

u We’ll take your lecture on feminine unpunctuality for 
granted.” So she prattled. w Unless you can honestly say 
the time has been wasted.” 

Then she looked up and saw. The immediate fierce- 
ness of her eye was the girlish miniature of her 
brother’s. Tant trembled before it, as he had not trembled 
before her brother’s ; he shrank again as at the touch of 
magic from the fighting man into the mere lout. Lois 
shook her little gloved fist in his face and cried : 


82 


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M What have you done to my brother, you dreadful 
man ? ” 

Tant was as if fascinated. He would not have looked, 
but could not help looking ; he would have fled helter- 
skelter, as the routed fly, but stirred not a foot. Her anger 
was terrible to him, but more terrible her maidenhood. 
His knees knocked together, he saw no way of escape ; he 
knew his enemies would pursue him fly where he might ; 
he wished he might die by them there and then. 

u I’ll have you punished ! ” she cried and stamped her 
foot. “You shall go to prison ! ” 

He could not speak ; he could not say : “ Order me to 
prison and I will go of myself ; I am in prison already ; ” 
his voice was locked up, behind stronger bars than his teeth. 
Lois turned and bent over her brother, who was beginning 
to raise himself a little in the slushy snow. 

“ Are you much hurt, dear ? ” she said, and her voice 
dropped at once the whole octave from defiance to a caress. 
Tant had never before heard a voice so bitterly sweet, so 
awfully tender. 

“Not much; I think I feel a bit sickish ; but there’s 
nothing the matter, Loie. This man has been giving me a 
lesson.” 

“ A lesson ? ” She almost thought he was out of his 
senses. 

“ What sort of a lesson ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ In boxing, among other things.” 

He stood up, a sorry object, with bruised face and soiled 
dress, highly different from the dapper personage of but five 
minutes before. 

“ Oh, you look — oh, it’s abominable ! ” she cried, and 
turned again to confront the author of it; but he was gone, 
he had fled, he was out of sight. She and her brother re- 
turned to the house. She could not get him to say what 


A TWO-HEADED VICTORY 83 

had been the cause of the encounter, nor even to give 
the name of his assailant ; her dissatisfaction whereat was 
a salutary counter-irritant to the distress she felt for his in- 
juries. 

As for Tant, he hardly deserves a paragraph to himself. 
His strange case might have been signalised by some new 
discovery in help or helplessness ; but nothing of the kind ; 
he just went and got drunk like any ordinary Englishman 
ordinarily disturbed. 


CHAPTER VIII 


AS OTHERS SEE US 

At a quarter past two in the afternoon Tant was too 
drunk to stand, not yet too drunk to sit or walk. Why he 
should not have stopped in the Will Scarlett and there have 
achieved perfect drunkenness, is what I cannot say. Man’s 
mind is not one room built four-square, either hall or gar- 
ret, it would seem, but an agglomeration of nooks, recesses, 
cupboards, closets, crinkum-crankums, blind passages with 
dead lights, doors that open not or open on nothing, stairs 
that lead up and down and no whither. So even in the 
process of getting drunk it would seem that the mere get- 
ting drunk is not all in all ; there may yet be yearnings, 
whims, crazes ; as to the modus of getting drunk, for in- 
stance. Perhaps Tant had become drunkenly weary of 
seeing the picture of “ Poor Trust is dead; Bad Pay killed 
him ” over the chimney-shelf of the Will Scarlett, and was 
taken with a desire to see how it looked over the chimney- 
shelf of the Barley Mow or the Marquis of Granby. Any- 
how forth he staggered through the inn’s wide door. 

The Will Scarlett is built at a meeting of ways; Tant 
pulled himself up outside, perhaps in order to deliberate 
whether he should turn to the right for the Bottoms and 
the Barley Mow, or to the left for the Unicorn, or keep 
straight on — as straight on as might be — for the Marquis 
of Granby, or even return with a saving of thought and 
labour to the snug tap-room and home-brewed ales he had 
just left. But as soon as he stopped he was done ; he lost 
his balance and sank down on his haunches. In front of 

84 


AS OTHERS SEE US 


85 

the house there is a patch of stony ground two or three 
feet above the level of the road ; thereon he sat or crouched, 
a sample of the trade done within, a spectacle to passers-by, 
the plaything of the children who collected round him. He 
looked none the better for a raw red scratch across his face, 
gotten from an overhanging briar in his tumultuous flight 
from Lois Skrene. 

The tinkle of the three bells of the church hard-by came 
thinly down the street. Thinly by ones and twos and 
threes demure worshippers went up it, all sober, all in their 
best clothes, on their best behaviour; and each as they 
passed cast an eye on Tant. Little innocents shrank be- 
hind their parents, nice damsels averted their disgusted 
faces, young men laughed, their elders shook their grey 
heads and prophesied. Tant saw them each after a fash- 
ion, as it were through fumes, dimmed and distorted ; some- 
times he laughed at the funny figures they made, sometimes 
turning to graver thoughts he pitied them. 

All by herself, almost the last, came Lois Skrene, her 
brother being too disfigured to accompany her. She looked 
perhaps a little paler for her recent agitation, but the sab- 
bath peace had redescended on her face. Tant saw her 
too; but clearly, with terrible clearness, in all her innocent 
youth and beauty. Drunkenly incapable of self-guidance 
he got up; the ring of children was broken before him; he 
staggered towards what terrified him. Not till he was close 
to her did she see him. She started away in horror. She 
laid hold of the arm of the first man and cried : 

“Send him away ! Send that dreadful man away ! ” 

It was old Josh Jowers whom she held by, the roughest 
customer perhaps in all Blidworth, the completest drunkard 
and blackguard. He was not drunk just then only because 
it took so long and so much to make him drunk. Indeed 
it was a good day’s work. 


86 


FOREST FOLK 


“ Nay, ma lass,” he said, as gently as his hoarse phlegmy 
voice would let him, u don’t be scarred ; he wain’t hutt 
thee; he shan’t hutt thee. It’s on’y Tant Roideout. 
Theer, he’s took off! ” 

So it was. Tant had been sobered instantly, completely, 
by that look of disgusted horror which she flung at him ; 
he had disappeared round the corner with the speed of a 
flight. The day went back to Sunday, and she heard the 
tinkle of the bells again. 

“Thank you !” she said to old Josh heartily, “ thank 
you ever so much ! ” 

u There warn’t no ’casion to be fritted, not a bit on’t, 
for sartain-lye, ma lass — miss. Tant’s a good-natur’d lad; 
I niver heerd on ’im hutting nubbudy.” 

u He was drunk ! ” 

“Ah ? Well, mebbe ’e war a bit meller. It’s Sunday, 
yo see, an’ huz working-men hae to mek the best on’t.” 

“ Well, thank you once more for your kind assistance,” 
said Lois, but shrinking a little from him. 

“ Y’ar welcome, ma lass — miss, ’eartily welcome.” 

They were turning from one another, she with her face 
set for the church, he with his for the Will Scarlett; at 
which moment she had a completer view of him than be- 
fore ; of his long loose coat, blue and rent and stained, of 
his ill-buttoned red waistcoat, of the shred of neckerchief 
scantly covering a swollen neck, of the ancient cocked hat, 
limp and greasy, long a castaway from respectability. A 
dirty flea-bitten cur slouched at his heels. She was taken 
by a sudden pity for the poor pink-eyed beer-sodden wretch 
who had befriended her. She put her hand on his arm and 
said : 

“ Will you take me to church ? My brother wasn’t well 
enough to come, and I don’t know many people here.” 

Josh Jowers could not answer, his answer stuck in the 


AS OTHERS SEE US 


87 

rude phlegmy passage of his throat. He could not answer, 
but he walked by her side up the street churchwards, with 
steps unsteady, but less from beer than surprise. The 
mongrel dog followed dubiously at a little distance. The 
three gloved fingers that Lois had laid upon Josh’s ragged 
sleeve she kept there ; in appearance it was much as though 
she went arm-in-arm with him. He felt their sweet com- 
pulsion, on his feet, in his brain ; the sign of the Unicorn 
with its twisted thrusting horn stirred him not ; he passed 
through the church gates. Then the dog which had fol- 
lowed him thus far fled with a howl back to the Will 
Scarlett. 

The blackguard sat beside the lady in the cushioned pew ; 
her dainty out-spreading skirts touched his tattered coat; 
the preparatory hush settled upon him and in him. When 
they up-rose there was but one prayer-book between them ; 
the lady’s spotless glove held one corner, the blackguard’s 
grimy thumb the other. He hardly heard the purchased 
mumble of the reader; he heard the young fresh ladylike 
voice beside him singing and saying, and listened to it as a 
man on the ground listens to a lark in the sky. He would 
like to have said c< Amen ” to her w world without end,” 
but his throat was stopped up. Yet by the time they were 
half through the psalms he had managed, with much under- 
breath hemming and hawking, partially to clear a way for 
his voice; he was proud to be able to show her that he also 
could read. 

“ If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done 
amiss : O Lord, who may abide it ? ” 

He stumbled at every hard word like extreme and 
plenteous, and was generally half a sentence behind, but 
she helped him along ; and so his thick uncertain tremulous 
utterance mingled with her clear sweet tones, going the 
same way, heavenward. 


88 


FOREST FOLK 


I cannot say that Josh got much direct good from the 
dry sermon of the non-resident vicar, his hearing was not 
so good as it had been ; but he ventured near the beginning 
to take a peep at the fair face beside him ; he saw that she 
was listening for both of them, and he sat through the rest 
of the service with much satisfaction. 

At the church gates she said to him: “ My name is Lois 
Skrene. May I ask what yours is ? ” 

At his first coming out from what was so strange to him, 
what was familiar had seemed strange, the trees and the 
graves, the clatter of the children, the eyes of men, even the 
chilly outside air with more daylight in it than he had ex- 
pected ; even the street with the thrusting unicorn opposite. 
He had felt shy and uncomfortable, but her pleasant 
friendly voice comforted him. 

“ Josh Jowers, miss.” A dirty hand went up to his old 
cocked hat ; to his own surprise he made a clumsy bow of 
it. “ At yer sarvice.” 

“Well, Mr. Jowers, we’ve got too large a pew, as you 
saw, for only two persons ; the maids prefer chapel. 
There will always be a seat for you ; and I shall be disap- 
pointed if you don’t occupy it. Good-bye ; till next Sun- 
day.” 

Of the first person he met Josh asked the time of day. 

M Gettin’ on for fower o’clock time. Wheer’s yer dog ? 
Wheer’s Posh ? ” 

He did not answer the question, he was so struck by the 
thought that he had lost an hour and a half. He seemed to 
give up hope of getting drunk that day ; he went home al- 
most sober; that he might perhaps find dog Posh there was 
but a sub-motive. 

Meanwhile as Lois repassed the door of the Will 
Scarlett, what had befallen her there recurred with repulsive 
distinctness. “ Tant Rideout!” she remembered the 


AS OTHERS SEE US 


89 


name; it seemed of the proper unusual sort for such a fellow. 
Of course she would have liked to know what the quarrel 
was between him and her brother, and she lost a good deal 
of pains in vain surmises ; nothing she knew of her brother 
and his nice tastes gave her any clue to it. 

She knew enough however not to ask him. But she 
mentioned her second meeting with Mr. Tant Rideout. 
How did she know it was Mr. Tant Rideout ? She told 
him, and of her fright, and how she had been rescued from 
it by a funny pimply old man with a bent nose. Being 
safely by her own fireside she could venture to laugh a little 
at her fears. 

“ And he smelt of beer, Arthur.” 

“ Better and better ! ” 

“ Not table beer either.” 

“ Ton my word, Loie, you didn’t choose your champion 
very sweetly.” 

“ I didn’t choose him at all ; I should have chosen a 
churchwarden. It was fate, and nothing but fate. He 
was going afterwards into a public-house — perhaps to drink 
my health — so I — what do you think ? ” 

“ Gave him the money for it ? ” 

“ Begged him — you might say compelled him — to ac- 
company me to church.” 

“ You never did ! ” 

u And I invited him to make use of our pew next Sun- 
day.” 

“You can’t be serious ! ” 

“ And every Sunday.” 

“Well, you’ve made it impossible for us to ask any 
decent people.” 

“If you mean Miss Perkins ” 

“ Miss Perkins and others.” 

“ Ask her without the others, she’ll like it all the better, 


9 o 


FOREST FOLK 


and there’ll still be plenty of room. I’ll see that he sits 
next to me and looks over my prayer-book.” 

“ I own I’m surprised, Lois.” 

“ So am I, Arthur ; I felt sure we should look at it in the 
same light. And look here ! I’ve told you at once and 
given you a whole week to get over it, before you offer 
him the welcome of a gentleman — as you know you’ve got 
to do, and will do — next Sunday. Now I call that con- 
siderate. Don’t you ? ” 

Tant Rideout had seen the Sunday in her face trans- 
formed at sight of him into horror and disgust. Her hor- 
ror horrified him. The narcotic influence was driven out 
by another form of stupefaction, more inward, more dis- 
abling. He rushed from her presence. Everything looked 
changed to him — surely he was gone mad ! — the sky, the 
ground, the houses, the folk. Only her face, first with 
the Sunday in it, and then the horror j that never changed. 
What sort of monster must he be, who could so instantane- 
ously confound a maiden’s calm ? He would have liked to 
take counsel with the men, with the women, with the little 
children ; to have asked them : “ What manner of man am 
I ? Wherein am I different from you, from your next neigh- 
bour, from Josh Jowers, whom she did not fear ? ” He found 
however that it was impossible to put such an inquiry into 
words. But he looked into faces as he hurried by, and out 
of the looks that were returned him of doubt or surprise, 
he made an answer to it. It seemed to him that every- 
body was of the lady’s opinion. 

How long had it been so with him ? Surely he had not 
been born so ? When had the change come upon him ? 
During his late drunkenness ? or at the moment of his sud- 
den awakening from it ? No, for he remembered having 
seen the same disgust in her at their morning meeting, 
though the horror was nothing like so great or at least so 


AS OTHERS SEE US 


9i 


apparent, being confused with her anger. How far back 
then went the change ? Could it be that yesterday he was 
a man like other men, negligent, manly, selfish, well enough 
liked ? Or had he been deluding himself for years ? Surely 
he had been mad all the time ; surely he had been grossly 
wrapping up the contempt or fear of men's faces in the 
happy delusions of a fool ! But now that the deceit was 
rent away, how should he live among them ? How could 
he live among them ? 

His thoughts drove him straight home, as though the 
sum of them had amounted to hunger. The tea-table was 
laid in the kitchen, but Nell was not there; he did not see 
who was there ; he strode through and up-stairs. He 
rapped at Nell’s door; she was within and answered him. 

“ Len’ me a looking-glass a minute.” 

“ A looking-glass ? What d’yer want that for? ” 

“To get summat out of my eye.” 

u Shall I do it for yer ? ” 

u I’ll do it mysen.” 

And so he went to his own chamber with the square foot 
of hanging glass by which Nell tied her bonnet-strings. He 
took it to the window, peered eagerly into it, and saw a 
pair of wild eyes staring back at his own ; saw a visage un- 
shorn, unkempt, unwashed, with a great scratch across it 
and strange even to himself. He gazed at it for a minute 
with a disgust and horror like the lady’s, then he opened 
the casement and flung the glass out into the yard. Plump 
into the miry midst it fell and disappeared ; but took noth- 
ing with it. 

He did not go down to the afternoon meal, and made no 
reply to Nell’s repeated call, so she went up to him. He 
seized her by the arm and anticipated her question with his 
own. 

u What sort of looking man am I ? ” 


92 


FOREST FOLK 


She looked and said nothing, dumbfoundered by the 
strangeness of his question and his manner. 

u For God’s sake tell me, Nell ! What is there in me 
that frightens ladies ? ” 

w A good deal, lad, if yo look at ’em like that.” 
w Why didn’t yo tell me afore ? ” 

K I never seed yer look like that afore.” 
u What did I look like ? yesterday — the day afore yester- 
day — last Sunday ? ” 

“ Why, when yo were weshed and combed and shorn 

and your best clo’es on ” 

“ Ay?” 

“ Your blue coat wi’ silver buttons an’ all ” 

“ Ay, ay ? ” 

w And quite sober ” 

u I am now, Nell, terrible sober.” 

K The handsomest lad in all the forest. And now come 
down to your tea. There’s pikelets.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE OLD HORSE 

In the morning Selby informed Mr. Skrene that William 
Spettigew had come to him “ by house-row ” demanding 
employment. This was in accordance with the method of 
giving relief to the distressed labourer then in vogue in 
Nottinghamshire and other parts. In order to avoid his 
being thrown entirely upon the rates he was sent round by 
the overseer successively to the farmers of his place of set- 
tlement ; who each in his turn were required to find him 
work for a number of days proportionate to the amount of 
their assessments, at the rate of sixpence a day and his 
food ; to which pittance the parish added another sixpence. 
Arthur bade Selby set the man to help the thrasher, but did 
not himself see him until the third day ; indeed he went out 
but little during that time, for his face had not yet recovered 
from the damage it had received in the fight. However at 
the end of the third day he crossed the crew-yard and 
looked into the great dim barn. The thrashing was done 
for the day ; about the barn door a number of sleek stall- 
fed beasts jostled one another and munched the shorts 
which had been tossed out to them. Thick on the oaken 
floor lay thrashed-out grain, which Spettigew was pushing 
together with the back of a chaving-rake, while Coy, the 
thrasher, with a wooden shovel threw it up into a great 
white heap. The thrasher, a lean old man, lean and bent, 
gave a glance at his master and kept on shovelling; Spetti- 
gew touched his hat, rested on his rake and said : 

“ Weather’s very slack, mester.” 

93 


94 


FOREST FOLK 


“ It is so.” 

M The snow’s thoein’ nicely.” 

u Yes.” 

“This barley’s a-thrashin’ out uncommon well.” 

Arthur had been going, but the man’s apparent interest 
in another man’s barley had something in it which caused 
him to turn again and speak. But first he went out of the 
daylight, which still made a ragged circle about the door, 
into the inner dimness. Through one or two loop-holes 
which faced the setting sun jets of light entered horizon- 
tally, flickered on for a short distance, then were dispersed 
and lost. Still by them might be somewhat more than 
imagined the lessening mow of unthrashed corn at the one 
murky end of the building and the increasing heap of straw 
at the other. On the floor wanly gleamed the piles of 
grain. Spettigew still rested on his rake; in the dark back- 
ground, little more than a flitting shadow, the bent thrasher 
shovelled and shovelled. Arthur knew he was deaf to any- 
thing under a shout. 

w So you don’t bear me a grudge for what happened on 
Saturday ? ” he said. 

“ Why suld I ? ” said the man. “ Why suld I ? Besides 
I gied yo a dab or two back. To the best o’ my power. 
That theer eye o’ yourn looks a bit mauled. I’d sooner 
be fisted by a man any day nor tongue-battled by a 
woman.” 

u Ah ? you get more of the latter ? ” 

u The women ? They non reckons theirsens latter ; i’ 
their own estimation they’re fust an’ foremost at iv’ry turn. 
I’m main glad yer tantoozled ’er as yer did.” 

He touched a sore place ; Arthur winced and turned 
away. Spettigew followed him to the door. 

“ She’s a bad un an’ cooms of a bad stock. It’s well 
knowed as her gret-grannie’s a witch. She lives facing uz 


THE OLD HORSE 


95 


at the Bottoms.” Arthur showed interest to the extent of 
looking back a little but not of answering. “ An’ hersen’s 
little or noat better. I don’t like them fraunfreckles about 
’er eyes. It hehooves yer to tek care, mester, or she’ll be 
doin’ yer a mischief.” 

“ You’re a fool ! ” said Arthur shortly over his shoulder. 
He went, and Spettigew stood a minute or two resting 
on the rake and pondering his final speech ; for the master’s 
proven muscular superiority enforced on him a certain re- 
spect for his reasoning powers. Coy ceased to shovel, and 
began to lay the floor for the next day’s thrashing. Spetti- 
gew went and helped him by forking down the unthrashed 
barley from the mow, but absent-mindedly, without zeal. 
After a while he seized the thrasher by the arm to bespeak 
his attention. The arm he seized was about the thickness 
of the sneath of a scythe, but of incredible hardness, al- 
most like contractile bone. The man looked up. Spetti- 
gew shouted in his ear : 

u I’m non sich a big fool as some is.” 
w Ah ? ” ejaculated the thrasher. 
u I’m sure on’t.” 

And the self-assertion comforted him, as it ever does. 
They finished the floor in silence. Then Coy raised his 
bowed head and in a strange high-pitched squeak said : 

u I’ve knowed ’em bigger this-away, an’ I’ve knowed 
’em bigger this-away.” 

While with lateral and vertical extension of his two lean 
paws he by turns signified breadth and height; and never 
a word more he spoke that night. 

Josh Jowers attended church for three successive Sun- 
days after Miss Skrene’s invitation, then was seen there no 
more. It was all Posh’s doing ; he refused to countenance 
the change of habit. He did not argue, he did not scold 
or tease ; his contemptuous silence, his avoidance as soon 


96 


FOREST FOLK 


as Sunday came round, the indifference with which he went 
off ratting and poaching by himself were more than Josh 
could bear. He tried as a last compromise to get extra 
drunk on Saturday ; but he could not do it, it was impos- 
sible ; the best-spent day has but twenty-four hours for 
sleep and duty. And even if he could have crowded two 
drunks into one industrious day, he had a heart-sick pre- 
sentiment that Posh would have disdained the sop. The 
fourth Sunday night he passed insensible to discomfort in a 
ditch ; Posh lay beside him, sensible but perfectly happy. 

K I’m disappointed,” said Lois to her brother on their 
way home from church on the fifth Sunday. 

u Did you expect anything else ? ” said Arthur, who bore 
his own disappointment well. 

“Expect? To be disappointed? I should think not 
indeed.” 

w Ah, Loie, you think you can tyrannise over men’s ap- 
petites as you do over your own home.” 

u I tyrannise ? Oh ! When you know, you know, you 
have your own way in everything. Now do be good. I 
want you to go and see Mr. Jowers, and inquire the reason 
of his absence. He may be ill.” 

M Oh, hang it, Loie ! The man’s a perfect sot.” 

“I asked you just to please you; I would much sooner 
go myself.” 

“ That you certainly shall not ; he’s generally drunk.” 

u Who tyrannises now ? Well, but you must do it 
nicely. Say that I — that we take it very ill of him, and all 
that.” 

And strange to say he did it, and did it nicely too. But 
he had got into the way of humouring her years and years 
ago, when she was a tiny thing with hardly words enough 
to bespeak her commands, and I suppose he felt it hopeless 
to attempt a change now that she was a young lady with 


THE OLD HORSE 


97 


an accomplished tongue. He spoke to Josh on the thresh- 
old of his own cottage. Josh, who was as much sober as 
drunk, hung his head and looked at Posh, who lay in the 
path and scratched himself with perfect indifference to the 
visitor’s presence. 

“ It’s very ’andsome on yer to coom, sir,” said Josh ; 
“ an’ her, I do think she’s the best-natur’d of all the ladies 
o’ the land. But what can a man do ? Yo mun talk to 
Posh. Theer! he’s gone as soon as iver the subjeck’s 
mentioned. It’s that what beats me. I wish sometimes 
he’d bite me ; it ’ud seem more liker human natur. He 
wain’t argy-bargy, he wain’t let fly, he will hae his own 
way. Yo see I’ve been mester on him so long that he’s 
mestered me. He’s a ’eart-breaking dug. But ’is judg- 
ment o’ rots is nigh’and a meracle.” 

****** 

Arthur did not meet Nell again until near the end of 
March, when the hunt gathered at Mansfield Wood. Their 
greeting was a slight crook of the neck, a stiff touch of the 
hat. She felt those blows still hot upon her back. He 
too was not well pleased with her; but the why was some- 
thing much more obscure than a smart. It was not be- 
cause she had trespassed on his ground and broken his 
gates ; it was not because she had rapped him on the head ; 
nor because her brother had given him a black eye, nor 
because her hair was all but red. I might fill this book 
with what it was not if time could be bought and paper 
had for nothing, and yet be no nearer what it was. Be- 
sides the huntsman is throwing in the hounds; and I 
should hardly have mentioned a point of mere metaphysics 
but for the curious form his anger took. 

She was walking her horse backwards and forwards, apart 
from the loud-voiced, snuff-sniffing, dram-sipping crowd. 
He might have been listening to Mr. Rose, J. P., who was 


9 8 


FOREST FOLK 


painfully setting forth the injustice of the Blidworth En- 
closure Act to himself and its over-kindness to everybody 
else. But all the while he was asking himself what those 
bumpkins wanted. Was she not good enough and good 
enough looking for them ? For anybody indeed under the 
degree of a well-to-do yeoman’s son of Kent. He suc- 
ceeded in being offended with them because they did not 
pester her with their attentions. One of them in partic- 
ular, a tall self-assured young man who seemed to be 
looked up to by his comrades for his complacent laugh and 
the jaunty set of his elbows, he unnecessarily and unrea- 
sonably singled out to be angry with. Why wasn’t he by 
her side with a humbler simper ? The conceited lout ! 
Kicking with a pair of clean boots would have been too 
handsome a punishment for him. An unusual case that of 
Mr. Skrene’s ? Oh, dear no ! Most times when we are 
angry we ought to be laughing. 

But the hounds found ; Arthur broke off his anger and 
the J. P. his grievance. The fox took them a merry round 
by way of Foul Evil Brook, Lindhurst and the lately re- 
planted Harlow Wood. Bustled thence he scampered 
through the adjacent Thieves Wood and despoiled New- 
stead, where he got to ground. While the hounds were 
being taken to the next covert Nell had a few words with 
the huntsman, a liberty few would have ventured on at such 
a time. 

“ I can’t think what ails Hasty,” she said. “ He don’t 
seem to take any interest in’t.” 

“ He does look a bit dull, miss. If yo’ll ride ’im ower 
to the stables to-morrer our Bill Good’in shall hae a look 
at ’im. He’s the best hoss-doctor I know on. It’s the 
gift o’ God ; for ’e can’t ride a ha’porth.” 

After which lengthy speech he left her at the covert 
side. She wondered whether she had not better return 


THE OLD HORSE 


99 


home. Would Hasty be offended if she did ? The toot- 
ing of the horn, the cry of the hounds, the huntsman’s loud 
encouragement, the crackling of dry wood, the voices of 
men, the disturbed scream of a jay, the baaing of some 
ewes and lambs which a shepherd and his dog were holding 
up not far off, scarcely entered her thoughts. But when 
the fox had gone away, when a jubilant holloa proclaimed 
it, when the scattered hounds had been got together and 
acknowledged the scent, when they disappeared in full cry, 
every tongue vocal, and when every horse but hers was in 
eager motion, then old Hasty lifted his head, pricked up his 
ears and looked half-round wistfully, as if wondering what 
his mistress was thinking of. Still she hesitated, though 
her hesitation was giving way, so the old horse took the 
decision on himself and galloped off after his fellows. She 
neither reined him in nor urged him on. 

The fox had broken away from Hagg Nook and cross- 
ing the turnpike had led them down Long Dale, where the 
sand holes are, through the gorse and bracken of Papple- 
wick Forest and by Raven’s Nest Oak. There he re- 
crossed the road, but there was no safety for him in a 
young plantation, whether named after Vincent or Nelson. 
By Stanker Hill he raced, he skirted Goosedale Bog, beyond 
which he turned abruptly and made the best of his way 
down the grassy valley of the Leen. 

Nell followed at an easy pace, in company with many 
another, moderately horsed or moderate horsemen ; she did 
not forget. But after they had again crossed the turnpike 
the crowd was scattered, some went down the road, some 
got among the hills and rough moor to the right of it, some 
rode straight for the Leen, beside which they knew that 
Papplewick lane ran level. Arthur Skrene had gone that 
way before them but more ignorantly and incautiously. 
He had not taken warning by the rushes, the persicaria 
’ L. of C. 


100 


FOREST FOLK 


and other coarse growths which betray a marshy spot, so 
first he got stuck in Congel Mires and then in Goosedale 
Bog ; out of which he was floundering when the ruck swept 
by, high and dry, along the skirts of Congel Hill. 

Nell was going steadily, choosing the easiest, never for- 
getting, round Race-ground Hill. All at once as she 
gained the ridge of a slight rise she saw Arthur just ahead 
of her, desperately urging on his roan mare, which was 
somewhat blown, in order to recover his lost place. The 
desire to get in front of him sprang into a sudden blaze 
within her and burnt up every other consideration. Before 
her lay the Leen valley, an almost level stretch of grass, 
though with a gentle transverse slope to the river. Six 
furlongs off, racing down the valley towards Bulwell, she 
could see the hounds with a dab of moving scarlet beside 
them, and the country between was green dotted with red 
and black. The old horse saw and mended his speed. 

u Ay, push along, old boy,” she said. “ There’s some- 
body i’ front wants taking down a peg ; it’ll do him good ; 
and yo can do it if yo like.” 

He seemed to understand ; he needed no further encour- 
agement to put himself to his most emulous pace. Sud- 
denly Arthur Skrene had the vision before him of a superb 
horsewoman on a gallant horse, her hair flying loose, her 
skirts fluttering in the wind she made. His own steed felt 
the steely prick twofold behind the girth ; she bounded for- 
ward in fierce rivalry and for a quarter of a mile it was a 
race between them. The younger animal, straining her 
utmost, did not gain an inch. Then all at once the vision 
failed ; horse and horsewoman had dropped. Arthur looked 
back as he galloped. Nell had already risen, the old horse 
lay. With a right good will he tugged at the reins, but 
Nell waved her hand, either encouragingly to intimate that 
she was unhurt, or impatiently to decline his assistance. 


THE OLD HORSE 


IOI 


Still he was loath to leave her. Down the wind came her 
shrill: “Yo’ll miss the finish!” That and the hand and 
his mare’s impetuosity might or might not have decided 
him ; but the moment after a turfy hump hid horse and 
mistress from his backward glance ; he was free to imagine 
the best, which he good-naturedly did and galloped on. 

They killed among the gorse between Bulwell spring 
and the sand-pit. Nell did not turn up even among the 
latest stragglers. The fat white-bearded miller of Edingley, 
who always got in last but always got in, had trotted up on 
his old white long-tailed mare with not a hair turned ; but 
Nell did not come. Arthur grew a little uneasy. While 
the hounds were searching the warren hard by, he thought 
he would ride back a couple of fields. He rode all the 
way back. The old horse still lay as he had seen him lie. 
Nell sat on the ground at his head ; she was very pale; one 
hand was round his neck, the other under her chin, and she 
never once looked either to the right or the left. Arthur 
saw that the old horse was dead. He got down. 

u I’m very sorry for your misfortune, Miss Rideout.” 

She made no answer. 

“Allow me to be of some service to you.” 

“ I’ve killed him,” she said with hoarse quietness, “ I 
shall never hunt again.” 

“ Indeed I hope you will.” 

“ What’s your hope to me ? I suld feel as if I was riding 
on his ghost.” 

She rose to her feet. 

“ How shall you get home ? Permit me to put your sad- 
dle on my mare.” 

He began to unbuckle the girth. 

“ No ! ” she said, “ I shall walk ; I’m a butcher, it’s 
proper for me to walk.” 

They went a few yards, then she suddenly turned and 


102 


FOREST FOLK 


went back. He did not look to see what might be the oc- 
casion of her so doing ; he stood until presently she rejoined 
him. They walked together, he leading his mare, over the 
ground whereon they had raced so unfortunately. 

“ Did they kill ? ” she said after a while. 

But her ear was full of the last word she had uttered and 
she did not hear the answer. 

Presently the faint sound of a holloa reached their ears. 

“They’ve fun’ again,” she said. 

She stopped, but did not look back. 

ct Why are yo here ? ” she said. 

u I’ve had enough for to-day.” 

u Then yo’ve no gret stomach.” 

He thought she was going to insist on his departure, he 
saw the tightening of her lips; but she did not insist; she 
only said : 

u I suldn’t ha’ tho’t yo’d ha’ liked the Squire and the 
Colonel and Joe and Silly W alker to hae it all their own way.” 

Then they walked on again. At the top of the hill 
there is a gate ; there she stopped and looked her last look 
at the little patch of dark brown on the green far away 
down the slope. When they moved on the mare was be- 
tween Arthur and her. 

One field in silence, two fields in silence, then she said : 

“ He was such a good oad hoss ! As true — oh, he was 
true all through ! He hadn’t an atom o’ vice ; and no more 
temper nor belongs two pair o’ heels.” 

For a time there was no sound but the jink of the mare’s 
stirrups and the amorous “ chicurr ” of a pair of partridges 
in a neighbouring field. At last Arthur said : 

“ I wonder whether you will ever think as much of any 
human being.” 

“ I shan’t ever meet wi’ one wi’ such qualities. He was 
such a good oad hoss ! ” 


THE OLD HORSE 


103 

As soon as they were on the hard road she said : 

“ Get up and ride, Mr. Skrene.” 

She put aside his objections with a stern, M I’ve plenty o’ 
company, plenty o’ company.” 

So he mounted and rode. But on reaching High House 
he immediately dispatched two of his men with a wagon and 
four horses to fetch the old horse home, giving them such 
directions as he could for finding him. And seeing John- 
son the butcher’s man on the premises — he had come for 
a fat beast — he got him to accompany them, as being more 
used to the handling and hoisting of dead weights. Then 
he caused his sister’s quiet-tempered pony to be saddled and 
hastened back to meet Nell. She had come slowly, and 
was still three miles from home. 

“Yo’ve gien yoursen needless trouble,” she said ; u I’d 
sooner ha’ walked.” However she mounted the pony, 
saying : 

“ I shan’t think it’s him anyhow.” 

After going a little way she said : u Thisn’s a nice- 
actioned pretty little mouse for a young lady. She couldn’t 
be safer if she was at home.” 

A mile further and the wagon passed them. She recog- 
nised Arthur’s men and horses and looked at him question- 
ingly ; the first direct look she had given him that day. 
He nodded. 

“ Ride after ’em,” she said, u and tell ’em to be gentle 
wee ’m. Tell ’m it’s no knacker’s job ; he was a gentle- 
man, tell ’em. They might call at the Burnt Stump and 
get a bat or two o’ clean straw.” 

When Arthur came back from giving the directions she 
said : 

“I’ll sattle wi’ Johnson for Tom Hosspool ; he’ll charge 
me a little less nor he would a furrener.” 

“ I don’t expect he’ll charge at all.” 


104 


FOREST FOLK 


“ I’ll see he does. Johnson ayther charges or charges 
double. I wain’t pay for civility in wi’ my meat, as if 
’twere a higher-priced sort o’ suet.” 

Arthur laughed. 

“ I will see,” he said, “that it doesn’t get into your meat 
bill.” 

Her glance and her words were impatient. 

“ Yo mum be satisfied if I don’t insist on paying for your 
men and hosses.” 

A little further on she said : 

“Yo’ve gotten here a kind-mouthed good-mannered lit- 
tle chap — for a lady. Anybody who could sit a sofy could 
sit him.” 

Then she sighed and her face set hard again and she 
spoke no more. They rode up to the Low Farmhouse to- 
gether. She dismounted and delivered the reins into his 
hand. She pointed to the disputed way across the fields, 
saying : 

“Yo’d better goo the gainest road.” Then with a 
strange look which did not precisely hit the difference be- 
tween a sob and a smile : u It is oppen, I believe.” 

“ How did we come to dispute about it ? ” 

w The aggravation of a padlock, the pleasure o’ being 
contrairy wi’ a contrairy chap.” 

u But I can’t use the road unless you do,” said Arthur. 

She nodded ; then turned and passed through the gate 
into the yard. Arthur took a man’s pleasure in her free 
and upright carriage as she trod the smooth water-worn 
boulders of the side-path ; then rode off the field way, 
thinking how staunch such a girl would be to the man 
whom she took a fancy to; and at the same time discon- 
nectedly regretting that she should say u yo ” when she 
might have said “you.” 

Meanwhile she had passed the kitchen window, through 


THE OLD HORSE 


105 


which she knew Tish at the sound of her steps would peep 
and wonder why she was home so early and what had be- 
come of Hasty ; but her own look was straight ahead. She 
entered the stable. The beautiful greyhound tripped 
daintily down to meet her. Nell stooped and gave her the 
expected caress, but her wistful eyes were not satisfied. 

u He's coming, my pet," said Nell. “ In a wagon." 

The tense lines of her face were broken up ; she burst 
into tears. The hound put a cold nose up to her hot cheek 
and whimpered. 


CHAPTER X 


HALLELUJAH ! 

The sun’s course waxed towards the larger circles of 
summer, the lamb’s thickened, the old sow farrowed, 
Whitefoot dropped her first foal, the turnips were sown, the 
cows came into full profit, the dull black buds of the ash- 
tree burst into a vanished russet and green, the high hedges 
looked as though they were snowed over, the sheep were 
washed and clipped, arid Arthur Skrene met Nell Rideout 
again. He had indeed seen her once or twice at market in 
the meantime, had looked at her bags of samples, and 
while the grain dribbled through his fingers had passed a 
favourable judgment on her wheat and rye and not so 
favourable a one on her barley ; but of course that is quite 
a different thing from meeting a person in a quiet lane on a 
Sunday evening. 

She was on her way to the chapel at Blidworth ; by the 
somewhat less direct way of a grassy forsaken lane which 
for a field or two was the western boundary of High Farm. 
Arthur Skrene was going to — but it is no matter where nor 
for what purpose ; trivial or important, it was forgotten and 
never got done. He saw her as he was stepping over the 
stile off his own land into the lane. He stood half hidden 
by the elm which overhung the stile and watched her come 
up. She wore the usual costume for a summer’s Sunday of 
rustic maidens of her time ; a white muslin gown rather 
low-necked, blue-sashed, with a white underskirt and white 
stockings peeping between it and the black bows of her 
sandals. Her white mittens reached as high as her elbows. 

106 


HALLELUJAH! 107 

It was the first time that year of her wearing white, and 
she had on the new bonnet from Mansfield, a great coal- 
scuttle thing with blue ribbons and a nodding white 
feather. But I do not think it was that entirely nor even 
the quiet of the road which had overspread her face with 
such placidity. Arthur had seen it in the excitement of 
hunting, the keenness of reckoning, the gravity of approval 
or disapproval, the concealment and the betrayal of emo- 
tion, but never before in repose. It was in some sort a 
new face to him. As she got abreast of the stile she 
turned her eyes from looking straight ahead and saw him. 
He at once went towards her. 

44 Good-evening, Miss Rideout. Whither are you 
bound, if I may ask ? ” 

w To chapel.” 

He walked beside her up the hill. Short fine grass was 
their carpet, hedged with scented may-blossom and the dif- 
fering yellows of gorse and broom. A long way off there 
was the brawling of men and the laughing of women ; but 
the lane was quiet of everything but singing birds ; and it 
was afternoon with them. The sun was warm to their 
backs and they walked slowly. A slight haze dreamt along 
the tops of the hills. 

44 The day I came,” said Arthur, 44 I thought this was 
the dreariest country I had ever seen.” 

44 I’ve never seed any other,” said Nell ; 44 and I don’t want.” 

Her eyes watched a bumble-bee’s way in and out of a 
bee-nettle. 

Arthur took leave of her outside the Methodist chapel. 
Immediately he felt that the sunshine among houses is not 
as the sunshine among trees and hedges. He had walked 
no great distance up the street before he bethought himself 
that all that time he had been going out ofhis way. He turned 
back and again he passed the little Methodist chapel. The 


io8 


FOREST FOLK 


outer door was set wide open. His casual glance was ar- 
rested by a peeping hand’s breadth of muslin skirt. He 
thought he knew it ; he was taken by an impulse, he went 
straight up the steps ; perhaps to make sure of it. He had 
a good eye apparently for a dress fabric ; Nell was alone in 
the narrow lobby behind the door with her back to him. 
Perhaps Brother Lightfoot’s watch was five minutes fast, 
perhaps though he had said so little Arthur’s company had 
been a drag upon her feet ; anyhow she had arrived just 
after the brother had begun the opening prayer, and had 
had to stand out until it was concluded. 

Having justified his eyesight Arthur might have with- 
drawn unperceived and gone upon his way. He did the 
unexpected thing, he walked straight in. She turned her 
head and saw him. There was a coming of colour under 
her cheek-bones ; faint it is true and only noticeable be- 
cause Nell was not one easily to change colour or courage. 
Still one may flush at almost anything, any sort of surprise, 
any sort of warmth. She made room that he might stand 
beside her. 

Brother Lightfoot always spoke to the Almighty louder 
by far than to his earthly father, who was known to be hard 
of hearing. His voice, violently prayerful, went through the 
passage like a blast of wind ; but they stood by in the 
corner and took no hurt. A ray of sunshine came through 
the chink between door and jamb; a row of children had 
settled on the bottom step and were chattering like sparrows. 

But at length Brother Lightfoot had done uttering; Nell 
and Arthur passed in while the congregation were coughing 
their throats into tune. 

u Let uz worship God by singing ’ymn number twelft ; 
short measure : 


“ ‘ Come, ye that love the Lord, 
And let your joys be known.' ” 


HALLELUJAH ! 


109 


So Brother Sam Jarvis lustily gave forth, a little big- 
voiced man whose white smock-frock elaborately needle- 
worked down the front contrasted strongly with his dusky 
red face ; and forthwith he struck up the appropriate tune. 

The congregation, most of whom had no hymn-books 
and could have got no profit by them if they had, sung the 
two lines with him ; he then gave out two more : 

“ Join in a song with sweet accord 
While ye surround the throne.” 

And so through the eight verses, nominally of short 
metre, but which with an added refrain of “ Rollelujah for- 
ever ” loosely tacked on to the florid redundancies and 
repetitions of the tune proper became the longest of longs. 
But the most remarkable thing about the performance was 
that everybody sang, every man, every woman, every child, 
at the top of their voices ; even the babies were not mute. 
We may have better psalmody nowadays, irreproachably 
unemotional and empty, from our Mus.B.’s and D.’s, we 
have no such singers as those lusty enthusiasts who made 
the windows of that humble little meeting-house tremble. 
Folk tell us our wines are decadent, our poetry, our shoe- 
leather, our vices ; I sometimes think our voices must be 
too. 

“ We’re marching through Immanuel’s ground 
To fairer worlds on high.” 

So they sang, often at variance in the words, never in 
the notes, doubling, trebling, quadrupling the refrain, 
forte, fortissimo, fortississimo, till the sound entered by 
storm the open windows of the Will Scarlett, silenced 
Dick Dunstan the pensioner, who was obliging the com- 
pany with a scurvy song to a scurvy tune in a scurvy voice, 
and took the whole tap-room prisoners. Arthur did not 
know what to make of it. The only congregational sing- 


no 


FOREST FOLK 


ing he was acquainted with was a kind of mortified chant 
which had apparently replaced the obsolete penance of the 
old religion. 

When they sat down to the reading of “ the first portion 
of Holy Scripture ” all Arthur learnt by it was, that 
Brother Tom Jarvis, who was a larger edition of Brother 
Sam, thought it did not matter where he put his h’s so 
long as he got in a fair average of them, and that he be- 
lieved difficult passages could be explained out of a mere 
good-will to explain them. That was soon done, and he 
had leisure to feel somewhat uncomfortable in his unusual 
surroundings. It was the first time he had ever visited a 
dissenting meeting-house, and the unconsecrated ugliness 
of the room was as little to his taste as the free fervour of 
its worshippers. Nobody took the least notice of him but 
two or three peeping urchins, who got their heads audibly 
knuckled for so doing. 

But Brother Sam Jarvis’s jolly voice called on them 
again to sing hymn No. 499, peculiar measure : 

" Come let us ascend, 

My companion and friend, 

To a taste of the banquet above.” 

He plunged at once into “ Derby,” not because he was 
sure it would fit, but because he was fond of “ Derby,” 
because its tied notes make it a squeezable sort of tune, 
because he trusted that its anapaestic swing would carry 
them over occasional rough places, and finally because he 
was incapable of hesitation. But the singing came to an 
end at u banquet,” the last word being altogether unpro- 
vided for in the tune. 

“ She wain’t goo,” said Brother Sam. 

“ Yo mun humour ’er a bit, Samwell,” said a voice in 
the congregation ; M as if ’twere your Sarah.” 


HALLELUJAH ! 


hi 


Arthur cast a side-glance at Nell to see whether she 
were most amused or displeased. He could not see that she 
was either; it was the same still face which had seemed so 
at one with the quiet lane, and she had her finger in the 
hymn-book to keep the place. 

They tried again, “ humouring her,” and by thrusting 
here and there two syllables upon notes only intended to 
accommodate one, and by repeating the last four words of 
the sixth line managed to get through, though with con- 
siderable jolting, which however nobody took amiss. 
Nevertheless the good brother was a little discouraged, not 
to say daunted ; perhaps he felt it was not one of his days. 
After the second reading of Scripture, when he had given 
out the next hymn (it was only trumpet metre), and all the 
congregation was waiting on his precentorship, he turned 
and looked up at the brother who had just mounted the pul- 
pit in the place of the reader, and said : 

u Yo may try her yoursen.” 

With a gently waggish smile in a pleasant elderly voice 
the newcomer immediately answered, u It appears to me it 
ud goo to c Consolation,’ Brother Samuel.” 

So u Consolation ” they tried, and it did go. 

u My text will be fun’ in the second Samuel ” — with 
again a sly glance at the first Samuel seated below — w the 
second Samuel, sixt chapter, fowerteent verse. c And David 
danced before the Lord.’ ” 

It was a clean-faced old man who now stood before the 
people ; not meaning so much that his face was well washed 
and new-shaven, though it was that, as that it was clear of 
all pride, malice and guile. His hair was turning to white ; 
his cheeks were of a transparent paleness, as though he had 
tecently suffered a severe illness ; he wore a decent black 
coat and white neck-cloth. 

“ I niver tho’t, friends, to meet yer here again afore the 


1 1 2 


FOREST FOLK 


mercy-seat and join with yer in congregational praise and 
thanksgiving ; I looked afore this to be lifting up my voice 
in the New Jerusalem — wheer the tunes alius happens 
raight, Brother Samuel.” 

44 Glory be to God for that ! ” shouted Brother Samuel. 

u Howiver here I am in accordance with Divine dispen- 
sation among yer again to praise an’ pray in God’s house, 
to dance before the Lord, like David. I’ve hed a sore time 
on’t, brothers an’ sisters ; what the pain an’ what the 
anxiety, I were bein’ nicked wi’ a two-edged knife. But 
I’ve been bro’t through ; the deep watters has become 
shaller to my feet ; the doctor was very good, bless ’im, and 
the Lord was mighty to save.” 

w Hollelujah ! ” shouted one and another of the congrega- 
tion. 

u How pleasant it is, friends, to feel free from pain of a 
fine summer’s day ! ” 

u It is, Lord ; Thou knows it is,” murmured a sallow- 
faced sister. 

“To arise up from that weary bed, to know as the bot- 
tles are all emptied and chucked away, the doctor thanked 
and paid — I owe it to him to say as he dealt very generous 
wi’ me.” 

u The Lord reward him fowerfold ! ” thundered Brother 
Lightfoot. 

44 But the chief and the captain of my deliverance, how 
shall I thank Him, how shall I pay Him ? ” 

u I doubt it’ll break yer, brother,” said Brother Cuth- 
bert. 

“ It will, brother ; not only my purse but my sperrit also. 
But ‘the sacrifices of God are a broken sperrit.’ Pay Him 
I can’t, pay Him I niver shall. Thank Him I can, imper- 
fectly, wi’ a stammering tongue, a bit at a time. 4 O Lord, 
Thou presarvest man and beast. How excellent is Thy lov- 


HALLELUJAH ! 


^3 

ing-kindness, O God ! therefore the children of men put 
trust under the shadder of Thy wings.’ Brethren, my 
’eart’s brim-full ; I shan’t be easy whilst I’ve teemed a lit- 
tle on’t out. Let uz pray.” 

But are you worthy to listen ? At the most you would 
tolerate with a smile what Chris Nicholson poured forth 
with tears. We are a people who stand without in the 
street, and a friend’s voice in the ear, greetings by the way, 
the hurry of care-shod feet, the tumult of our own thoughts, 
all the noises of the common road mix with the half-heard 
words of an unseen preacher. But when Chris Nicholson 
had prayed and had risen and wiped his eyes, he again pro- 
ceeded : 

“ c And David danced before the Lord.’ We’re not to 
imagine that he danced one o’ these ’ere wanton immodest 
morris dances or — or jigs or — or — Brother Charlesworth 
knows the names on ’em better nor me ; if he hain’t for- 
got.” 

“ I’m on the way,” said Brother Charlesworth, “ wi’ 
God’s assistance.” 

“ No, no ! ’twere none that sort o’ dance, no huggling 
an’ pawming an’ kissing, but just a plain h-honest hinno- 
cent homely romp — yo know ; hop up smiling, twizzle round 
and hop back again — such as the children delight in towards 
Christmas time, bless their happy faces ! David danced 
before the Lord ; and his dancing has this lesson for uz to- 
day, that religion een’t intended to make our lives sorry. 
Oh no ! Yo’d think to hear folk talk as Christians goo 
about with funeral clo’es on, because some on ’s wears black 
cooats a Sundays. The black’s nubbut o’ th’ outside, 
friends.” 

“ Hollelujah ! ” 

“ Tailor Adams put it together.” 

“ He did ! ” 


FOREST FOLK 


1 14 

“ And I don’t denies he gies fair vally for money ; but 
the inside’s cloth of a different colour and quallity.” 

“ Glory to God ! ” 

“ « ’Tis religion that can give ’ ” 

M Ay, ay ! ” 

“ ‘ Sweetest pleasures while we live.’ ” 
u ’Tis so ! ’tis so.” 

“ ‘ In the Heavenly Lamb 
Thrice happy I am, 

And my ’eart it doth dance at the sound of His name.’ ” 
u Praise the Lord ! Hollelujah ! ” 

M Look at my face, non-Christians — not at my cooat — 
do yo see any signs on’t of regret or misgiving ? ” 

“ Not a bit on’t,” called out Simon Jackman. 

“ I weren’t addressing yo just then, brother. Pike round, 
non-Christians ; look if yo can see a sorry face among ’s, 
ayther up-stairs or down. Purr about, don’t be mealy- 
mouthed, guaze up an’ down. Does Samuel Jarvis appear 
as if he repented o’ his repentance ? ” 

“ Not him ! ” cried Brother Samuel. 

“ Brother Clifford tells me he’s put on two stun sin’ ’e 
becomed convarted. Look at Brother Charlesworth ! Yo 
can count his teeth. This is better, brother, een’t it, than 
when your shoe’s sole was merry and your own soul in a 
desperate despair ? ” 

“ It’s any odds,” said Brother Charlesworth. 
u What a sorry one-day-a-week merriment were that! 
Six days out ’o the seven yo hed goo to ho’ding your mouth 
shut to keep the wynd off’n your stomach ; now yo oppen 
it wi’out fear, in season and out of season, in commenda- 
tion of Him who hath holpen you and comforted you.” 
w Hollelujah ! ” shouted the brothers and sisters in chorus. 


HALLELUJAH ! 


115 

“ Do yo withcall them saving tears shed years and years 
agoo, Sister Morris ? Do yo begin to be sorry for your 
’oly sorrow ? ” 

“ It’s now all my joy,” said the sister in a thin aged 
voice. 

w What, yo’re all o’ the same wadd ? But mebbe yo, 
Brother Brown — the whittaw I meant, but yo can answer 
too, George, for I see yo’ve gotten your tongue ready 

twisted Both on yer, are yo saying i’ your hearts, c Oh 

gie ’s back the days we’ve messed away i’ God’s sarvice 
that we may spend ’em again profitably in drinking, gam- 
bling an’ cock-faighting ’ ? ” 

u No ! ” shouted both the Browns together. 

“ Nay, if yo’re all of a tale ” 

“ We are,” said the people. 

u Then it’s no good for to send my question round any 
more if it’s alius to get the same answer. It’s wunnerful 
too ! There’s little uns here an’ gret big uns, strong uns 
an’ poor wankling craturs, fair young maids an’ down 
oad men, yet your ’earts are all of a make. There’s no 
misgiving, no shame nor no fear in none on ’em. Yo dance 
afore the Lord. Dance ! not to the squeal of a bit o’ cat- 
gut, but to the music o’ your own tho’ts.” 

u Glory ! ” they all cried together lifting up their hands. 
u Drabbit them Methodisses ! ” said Seth Oldknow 
wheezily in the tap-room of the Will Scarlett. u What 
loongs they hev got, for sartain-lye.” 

tc Loongs ? ” growled Sam Mosley, <c They’ve as mooch 
loongs as a blether, which is all wynd-room.” 

Arthur Skrene’s prejudices were entirely on Sam Mos- 
ley’s side ; sitting in the tap-room of the Will Scarlett he 
would have passed the same judgment in less forcible words ; 
but he saw the sincerity of the men’s faces ; he could not 
be so unfair as he would have been pleased to be. 


1 16 


FOREST FOLK 


As he passed down the scanty aisle at the end of the 
service, many a rough hand was thrust forth to grasp his 
and bid him welcome. He saw no reason why people 
who had just worshipped together should not still be 
strangers. He came away with Nell ; he was glad when 
they had escaped from the encumbered street into the quiet 
lane. Still he laid part of the blame of his unamiable mood 
at her door; he knew that if she had taken the service less 
seriously he would have consented to be merely amused ; 
so he was teasing himself and would fain have been teasing 
her. I think she understood something of his state of 
mind; she said nothing to him; not a word. It was the 
hush of day ; the colours of earth and sky were still un- 
mixed but softened. The birds sang but sang of rest from 
singing. 

“ Wouldn’t it be as easy for those people,” he said, w to 
sing hallelujah as rollelujah ? ” 

“ Ay, but when the heart’s in a hurry it wain’t wait to 
spell.” 

There was a pleasant cooling stir in the air, but not 
enough to ruffle the spreading heads of the cow-parsley by 
the hedge-side. 

u Do you suppose that man could be really so ignorant 
as to think David danced a Sir Roger de Coverley ? ” 

“Why suldn’t he? Yo see I’ve all Chris’s ignorance, 
and a good lump o’ my own to boots.” She gave a side- 
glance at his handsome discontented face. “ It’s a gret 
comfort sometimes not to be so knowing. ’Specially of a 
Sunday evening.” 

The last bee drew out of a broom flower yellow-thighed, 
and flew away home. 

“ Still, I must wonder that anybody can prefer such min- 
istration to that of an educated and properly ordained gen- 
tleman.” 


HALLELUJAH! 


ll 7 


“ I’ll tell yer why ; we know Chris Nicholson.” 

w No doubt he’s a good fellow.” 

u Nay, the good fellows were across at the Will Scarlett. 
We know Chris. Can yo say as much o’ your parson ? ” 

“ I see him most Sundays.” 

“ Ay, he reads and he rides. Chris Nicholson stays 
amung-hand.” 

As they descended the hill the air became stiller, the 
quiet deepened. The lark which had been singing fluttered 
down to the earth. 

u Well, it appears to me unseemly to interrupt a service 
— I suppose you would call it a religious service ? — with 
either approval or disapproval.” 

Her serenity, hitherto perfect, was ruffled; she stopped 
and faced him. 

u Man, I coom this-away becos o’ the quiet ; it seems to 
help me remember a good sarmon or forget a bad un. But 
I’d sooner pass through faighting men and brangling women 
than abide a continuance o’ this picking small talk. So yo 
moan’t be offended if I bid yer good-night and step 
forrard.” 

She was as good as her word ; she hastened on and left 
him. He stood lost in indignation. She had openly pre- 
ferred the loudest and rudest annoyance to the company of 
his condescension. But before she had gone many yards 
she returned. He did not await her coming but strode off 
in the contrary direction. She quickly pursued and over- 
took him. 

u I can’t bear to leave yer mad at me. Yo’re such a 
franzy man, Mr. Skrene ; yo’re alius of hoss-back. Coom 
down a bit, do, there’s a good un. Don’t bear me no mal- 
ice. I moot speak as I think or not at all; which een’t 
civil when yo’re axed a plain question. Coom, shake hands 
wi’ me and part friends.” 


1 1 8 


FOREST FOLK 


He could not resist the candour of her address; he 
turned and shook hands. The sky was still luminous but 
the discolouration of the earth had begun. He felt a change 
too in the values of his judgment. 

u I perceive you think me a sorry coxcomb,’’ he said. 

“ Sin yo ax me — I think yo’ve an ower good opinion o’ 
yoursen. But let that be; and let Chris Nicholson be; 
he’ll be judged by his works not by his grammar an’ spell- 
ing; we all shall. And now goo your own way. Think 
o’ summat quietening ; the sweet haythorn bloom or the 
come-day -go-day whistle o’ yon blackbird ; the crops an’ 
the price o’ wheat, if yo can’t fix your mind on noat bet- 
ter. And now, good-night once more.” 

She went down and he went up. The yellow of the 
gorse was indistinguishable from the yellow of the broom. 
A clump of white campions scented the air. Night had be- 
gun to fall. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BADGER-BAITING 

The great-grandame of the Rideouts fell ill of her last 
illness; a delusive tedious troublesome illness, a gradual 
sinking into sleep liable to sudden awakenings or half-awak- 
enings to which clung much of the illusion of sleep. 
Among other of the old woman's whims she would not en- 
dure the ministrations or even the sight of Mrs. Spettigew, 
who had hitherto served her; she demanded Nell’s fre- 
quent, almost constant attention. In the end she would 
hardly take bite or sup but at Nell’s hand. And that at a 
time when the harvesting of grass, of white corn and black, 
was demanding all their energy. Fortunately Tant was a 
great stay to them ; he had kept sober ever since the rude 
shock of Miss Skrene’s disgust, and threw himself into the 
work of field and yard as though it were something to be 
smitten and overcome. 

But when the harvest-cart had come home decked with 
boughs and laden with singing children, when the nights 
began to eat up the days, when the stacks were all thatched, 
and the farm-work after the late hurried fever settled again 
into its autumnal routine of cleaning, ploughing and sow- 
ing, then Tant broke out again violently for a week. 

He could do with back-breaking labour from sunrise to 
sunset ; it dulled neither his body nor his spirits ; he could 
lie all day in the sun, listening to the bursting of the broom- 
pods, watching the movements of a soldier-beetle, the com- 
ing and going of butterflies, the antics of a blue-cap, get 
up when the dew began to fall and go home quietly to bed ; 

119 


120 


FOREST FOLK 


but he was not disciplined to endure the humdrum of daily 
life. At the end of the week he was party to a desperate 
deed of machine-breaking at Calverton. The next day the 
aguish reaction came on after his hot fit of devilry. He 
tied himself to the labour of the farm, but could not do 
enough between dawn and dark to tire his remorse. The 
lady’s face, disgusted, horrified, was always before him. 

Only ten days later there was another still more violent 
and unfortunate collision between law and misrule at the 
same place, but he had refused to take part in it. In this 
second attempt the Luddites were interrupted by the arrival 
of a party of Yeomanry under Sergeant Skrene’s command. 
There was a determined fight ; three or four of his men 
were wounded and a horse killed ; on the side of the 
rioters there was greater loss, one of them being shot dead, 
many said by the hand of Skrene himself, before they were 
put to the retreat. 

Thereafter Tant’s doings perplexed his sisters. His 
shoes, which were laid by the kitchen fire over night to 
dry, were in the morning always freshly wet and muddied. 
The roof of the long range of stabling which abutted on 
the house sloped up within three feet of his bedroom win- 
dow ; so that by removing two or three tiles purposely 
loosened he had an easy passage between the rafters to a 
false floor under the roof, and thence by means of a ladder 
to the ground. This sly mode of exit he had sometimes 
used in his father’s lifetime and often since to conceal his 
night-wanderings from the household. Tish and Nell 
knew well enough he had been stealing forth by it night 
after night during those first three weeks of October, de- 
parting as the latest stayers were quitting the Barley Mow, 
and returning what time the fox would be trotting back to 
his kennel. Yet his face showed no signs in the morning 
of midnight riot or misdoing, and his frame no lassitude; 


THE BADGER-BAITING 121 

he did his share and more of the farm-work with unremit- 
ting energy, 

“ I wunner what that lad’s agate on now,” said Tish one 
morning. 

She had to speak up, for she was on her knees before 
the fire kneading bread, and Nell was in the dairy churning 
out of sight. The grandmother sat in her accustomed seat 
knitting ; Tish could just see her skimpy black gown hang- 
ing straight down from knee to red woollen slipper. 

w I might ha’ tho’t,” said Tish, “ ’twere nubbut a bit o’ 
trout-fishing or rabbit-netting, but he ” 

w Nay,” answered Nell, shrill and unseen, “ he goos out 
as reg’lar when it’s dark as when it’s moonlight.” 

u That’s what I were saying, weren’t it ? D’yer think 
I’m hafe baked ? ” 

She spoke at a higher pitch than need was, and there- 
with dabbed her large clenched fists more energetically into 
the stiff dough. Nell continued to turn the handle of her 
old barrel churn. Splash ! splosh ! went the cream. 
Click ! click ! went the grandmother’s knitting-needles. 

u What cops me,” said Tish after a while, u is that he 
don’t drink wee’t.” 

“ So much the better,” said Nell. 

w May be. But if it’s mischief he’s after, dry mischief, 
let me tell yer, ’s worse nor the drunkenest o’ devilries. 
This last salt o’ that Mansfield chap’s no better nor rammel. 
I shall tell him.” 

The grandmother sat by the fire and no longer knitted. 

“Two things works havoc wi’ men folk, loove an’ 
play,” she said tremulously hoarse. “ M’appen the lad’s i’ 
loove.” 

“ Granmam ! ” cried Nell scornfully, almost angrily. 

“ Yo’re working that churn too fast,” shouted Tish. 
“ It’ll niver coom at that rate.” 


122 


FOREST FOLK 


u I wouldn’t say that on him,” said Nell, u behint his 
back. He’s none i’ loove.” 

Tish lifted her hands from the dough. 

“ How do yo know ? ” she said. “ What do yo know 
about it ? ” 

Nell’s answer was not quite ready. 

u Now yo’re working that thing as slow as yo did fast 
afore,” shouted Tish. 

M I tho’t it was gethering.” 

u Gethering ? Much. Yo’d seem to know as little 
about butter as yo do about loove.” 

At last Nell had her answer ready. 

“ He never laughs nor sings nowadays, that’s why I 
tho’t ; he’s as sober-sad as rent day.” 

Tish rose from her knees. 

u Yo gret sawny ! ” She was almost furious. “Yo 
babby know-noat ! What do yo unnerstan’ o’ loove ? ” 

Splash, splosh ! went the cream, regularly rhythmic, 
neither hurried nor delayed, and Nell answered back out of 
the unseen coldly and calmly : 

“ Noat. I’m satisfied ; I unnerstan’ what I’m doing.” 

Tish answered not immediately, while she rubbed the 
dough from her fingers, and when she did answer her voice 
was a little softened. 

“ I let yer to know, gell, loove’s a thing there’s a deal 
more crying nor laughing in’t.” 

She said no more and Nell said no more. Plip, plop ! 
went the butter as it began to come. The grandmother 
stroked her knees and forgot her knitting. 

In the evening when she had taken her staff and risen, 
and stood waiting for Nell’s arm to lead her to bed she 
said to Tant : 

“ Gimme tha hand, lad.” 

He put his large muscular hand to her skinny tremulous 


THE BADGER-BAITING 


123 

one. The ends of the aged fingers fell naturally just 
where the young pulse strongly came and went. 

“ How does ta sleep, lad ? ” she said. 
u Sleep, granmam ? Like other folk ; just goo to bed an* 
wakken up.” 

u Does ta dream ? ” 
u Like other folk.” 

“ Good dreams or bad uns ? ” 

“ How suld I know ? Afore I’ve windered [winnowed] 
’em they’re gone.” 

u Does ta say tha prayers ? ” 

“ Nows an’ thens.” 

“Thee can’t dream to hurt thee after ‘Jesus Christ’s 
sake Amen.’ Will ta say ’em to-night ? ” 

“ Ay, granmam.” 

Nell’s arm was ready, but the beldame stood, unusually 
garrulous. 

“ I mind me when thee were nubbut a little un, an’ thee 
wouldn’t niver say, ‘ forgie ’s our trespasses.’ Say ’s I 
would thee wouldn’t. Thee said God hedn’t gotten any 
land at Blid’orth, an’ the Colonel could look after 
hissen.” 

Tish attacked him more directly, not more successfully, 
in the morning, as he was going forth with a recent wet- 
ness on his boots. 

“ It don’t look well, it looks bad,” she said, “ to start 
the mornin’ wetchud [wet-shod].” 

“Would it ha’ looked better,” he answered, “if I’d 
slived down i’ th’ night an’ changed shoes ? ” 

Tish had a reply, she always had, but Tant had gone 
from the door and it went to waste. 

Nell had a doubt of her own, which she kept to herself, 
so making a fear of it. 

Towards the end of October a badger-baiting with Sam 


124 


FOREST FOLK 


Mosley’s badger was got up by Gill the landlord of the 
Lay Cross. This was the solitary wayside tavern at which 
Arthur, on the day of his arrival, had after long wander- 
ing got uncertain information of his whereabouts. It was 
a house with a reputation as mean as its appearance ; it was 
situated on the outskirts of the forest, at the crossing of 
little-frequented pack-horse tracks to Mansfield and Oiler- 
ton, and had been notorious for generations as the nightly 
resort of footpads, burglars, poachers, deer-stealers, debtors 
eluding their creditors, topers eluding their wives, and in- 
deed of all manner of characters from bad to doubtful. 
For which it was tardily condemned and pulled down shortly 
after the date of this story. But all that did not in the 
least interfere with the attendance at the baiting of respect- 
able persons who were fond of a bit of sport. They 
separated the ill-repute of house and landlord from the 
unquestioned merit of the badger, as scrupulously as they 
discriminated between the laxness of a parson’s conduct 
and the infallibility of his doctrine. So at the back of the 
inn on a plot of ground cleared of gorse, broom and ling, 
gathered most of the farmers of the neighbourhood, a 
sprinkling of their landlords, a good many sporting shop- 
keepers from Mansfield and elsewhere, a couple of doctors, 
an attorney in top-boots, licensed victuallers with and with- 
out their wives, stockingers from Sutton and Arnold, grimy 
colliers from the borders of Derbyshire. The parish con- 
stable and the parish clerk were ex officio spectators. Of 
course all the riff-raff of the country was there, including 
old Squire Bellaby, who never missed prize-fight, cocking 
or baiting within fifteen miles ; but there were besides 
several decent persons of the most serious aspect who 
seemed surprised at meeting one another there. They 
were fellow-worshippers at the Methodist chapel; but they 
did not come in their Sunday coats. These hung on the 


THE BADGER-BAITING 


125 


outskirts of the mob until a beginning of the sport was 
made with Jimmy Strong’s Irish terrier — it was five to 
three on the badger — then they pushed for the best places. 
Among these cannot be reckoned Tant Rideout, who prob- 
ably would come most fairly under the heading u riff-raff 
and Squire Bellaby ” ; as most certainly would Josh Jowers, 
as yet incompletely drunk. 

The badger’s place of vantage was a wooden box about 
three yards long, and but just high and wide enough to 
give him and his persecutors room to battle in. Many a 
dog of divers breed or none at all was put in to him, but 
for the most part the badger had the best of it. Great was 
the hilarity — among the men — at the defeated howls of 
other men’s dogs. Only one of the latter species had the 
courage wholly to refuse. That was Josh Jowers’s cur, 
Posh ; he understood hares and rabbits perfectly ; man 
from heel to ham, as well as need be, badgers not at all ; 
but he was satisfied with his ignorance, and ever resolutely 
backward declined to enter for the study. Only the 
butcher’s bulldog and Sam’s own Irish terrier bitch Sally 
were successful in drawing the animal; the bulldog after 
much blood lost and the permanent disablement of one of 
his fore-paws, the latter with a great show of ferocity and 
plenty of barking, growling and rough tumbling, but with- 
out a hair’s damage to either side of the contest. But 
Sally’s victory over her grey comrade was an under- 
stood thing at Blidworth and brought Sam in no bets but 
from a few strangers, who as usual had to pay for being 
strangers. 

Tant of course had nothing to do with him or her, but 
put his money for the most part on the bulldog. Among 
the rest he had a three to two wager in crowns with Ben 
Foat, who after all his other accounts were settled and he 
was ready to go kept him waiting, on the fair pretext that 


126 


FOREST FOLK 


he himself had not yet squeezed his own winnings out of 
Josh Jowers and Medders’s Tom, a work of difficulty. Ben 
was the only other active adherent to the Luddite cause at 
Blidworth. He was a longish, knock-kneed, grey-haired, 
rough-chinned man, and was in lessening degrees sot, thief, 
poacher, politician, sportsman and bricklayer’s paddy ; so 
Tant did quite right not to trust him five shillings till the 
morning. 

It came on wet at the end of the grey afternoon, a 
straight-down noiseless discomforting rain, which had the 
property of damping more than it threatened. Premature 
night dripped from the clouds as it seemed with the rain ; 
the company quickly dispersed, except such as chose pa- 
tiently to await a change of weather at the inn. In the 
tap-room sat Tant with a pot of ale before him and a 
crowd of wet coats about him, some standing, some sitting, 
but all reeking malodorously, while their wearers talked 
together with an agreement so loud as to be disputatious of 
the scarcity of badger and the decadence of dog. Tant 
tired of this, still he waited until he had very deliberately 
finished his pint ; then he rose to go. Ben met him at the 
door, it was more than he expected, with the money in his 
hand. They had to go into the kitchen to the landlord to 
get three shillings and a half-crown changed into five-and- 
sixpence. It was pleasanter there ; the sand had not been 
trampled to mire but cried crisply underfoot, and the warm 
pungent odour of the wood fire replaced the fetidness of 
wet clothing. The landlord gave the change ; he was in 
his gala equipment— clean apron, face and hands as usual. 
There was nobody else present but a man who had sat 
facing the fire, but looked round before Tant could with- 
draw and said in friendly fashion : 

M How d’yer do, mate ? ” 

w First-rate,” answered Tant. u How’s yoursen ? ” 


THE BADGER-BAITING 


127 


At the same moment the landlord heard himself called 
for in the tap-room and went forth shutting the door be- 
hind him. 

“ I’m well enough,” said the man, “ if my feller-men 
was all well enough.” 

“ If yo’ve got to wait while then,” said Tant, chinking 
his money carelessly in his hand, “ I reckon it’ll be longer 
nor I’ve waited for this five shillings.” 

“ I’ll wait it out,” said the man. 

He stood five foot two in his shoes, but was of a sturdy 
build and about thirty years of age ; his purplish nose and 
disorderly hair and dress gave him a pot-house look, which 
yet was not ordinary, for his crafty eye, his jaw terribly 
firm-set, and his bull neck threatened a cold determination 
mated to reckless courage. Tant knew him well to be 
James Towle, a Basford man, the ringleader of the Not- 
tingham conspirators. Apparently he had but just arrived 
for rain-drops glistened on his cap and coat. He filled a 
pint pot of ale from a big jug which stood by him on the 
table and proffered it to Tant. It would have been against 
his code of courtesy to refuse it. 

“To yo,” he said, and took a deep draught. 

“And to our poor country,” said Towle, drinking from 
his own pot. 

“ And our country. So far as the luck i’side one pot o’ 
beer will goo.” 

“Sit down,” said Towle, “the man as drinks standing 
gets no good and gives no good.” 

Tant sat and drank, but hurriedly. 

“The luck’s got to go all round yet, Tant Rideout, afore 
there’s any luck for any of uz. We’re all in the same 
boat, mind, uz working men ; it’s sink or swim for all of 
uz. By working man I signify any toiler, either at the 
forge or the loom, on the land or ” 


128 


FOREST FOLK 


“Or among the goss of a moonlight night,” said Tant 
laughing. 

u Or among the goss of a moonlight night,” responded 
the other with perfect gravity ; “ or any other honest em- 
ployment.” 

Tant’s pot was empty. He rose. 

u Well, Fm off to mine — it’s middling honest — so I’ll say 
thank yer and good-night.” 

u What’s the hurry ? The jug’s hafe full yet. There’s 
no sense in a man making himself a slave to his work.” 

“M’appen ’e wants to be off* coortin’,” said Ben Foat; 
“ some says ’e’s snuffin’ after one o’ the wenches at ’Igh 
’Ouse.” 

“Do yo say so?” said Tant, reddening with quick 
anger. 

“Not I,” said Ben; “yo’ve been seed slivin’ round 
theer a-nights ; but I know noat.” 

“ It’s just as well for yo, for the man as says it i’ my 
hearing will say it next time atween fewer teeth.” 

“Stop, I’ve summat to say to yer private,” said Towle, 
for Tant was again going. With a beck of the head he 
motioned Ben Foat out of the room. “ It wouldn’t do to 
let knock-kneed lackeys like him hear everythink. You, 
Tant, we’ve hitherto considered to be as staunch as steel.” 

Tant’s cheek was still red; he was not ordinarily 
quarrelsome. 

“I’m staunch still; if any man says I ain’t I’ll chuck 
him out the winder. But I’ll be staunch i’ my own road, 
Jim Towle; I’ll play butty to no man’s opinions. To be 
plain wi’ yer, I’ve partly changed my views.” 

Towle’s countenance did not change; he kept his crafty 
eye on the speaker. 

“Why?” 

“ Well, chiefly mebbe because I hain’t been drunk but 


THE BADGER-BAITING 


129 

once sin the end o’ Febuary. It’s wunnerful what a differ- 
ence that meks to the colour o’ things.” 

Yet even while he spoke the colour of things was chang- 
ing ; the specious reasoning was drawing, the wild excite- 
ment was luring. There was bedevilment in the cups he 
had drunk. 

44 That’s unfort’nate for we’ve discovered poor George’s 
murderer, and we all thought ’twould be a treat to yer to 
help administer vengeance down on him according to Blid- 
’orth law.” 

u What’s Blid’orth law to yo ? ” 

u As much as to yo; p’raps more. B stands for Basford 
as well as Blid’orth. And if Blid’orth law means short 
law I see no great diff’rence atween it and Ned Ludd’s 
law.” 

“ Who is it ? ” 

Towle filled Tant’s measure again apparently without 
his noticing it. 

“I called it murder, if yer noticed,” said Towle. 

Tant nodded, with the cup on the way to his lips. 

44 What d’yer suppose I meant by’t ? ” 

44 Bit o’ strong language ; genteel sort o’ 4 d n yer.’ ” 

44 1 thought y’ud think so, but I didn’t ; I meant it cool 
and calm and deliberate. Yo think he was shot indiscrimi- 
nate, in the midst o’ the scrummage ? ” 

Tant nodded, and as it happened with the cup again on 
the way to his lips. 

44 He warn’t ; he was shot in the back, like a rat, tekken 
by surprise, with ’is hands in ’is pockets. It warn’t no fair 
stan’-up faight.” 

Tant had finished his ale. 

44 1 liked poor George. I gied him a lamming once; but 
there warn’t noat disgraceful in’t ayther to gie or to t-tek. 
’Twere about a tarrier p-pup.” 


130 


FOREST FOLK 


He stuttered ; there was a stutter too in his reasoning. 
He pulled off his coat, as though about to step into the 
ring. 

u Tant, man,” said Towle, “ it een’t none o’ yer hauly- 
mauly jobs, this een’t. It requires summat sharp and 
short, this does. ,, 

He produced a pistol from under his coat and handed it 
to Tant, who received it, cocked it as it seemed mechanic- 
ally, and holding it at arm’s length took aim apparently at a 
vile print of Mendoza on the opposite wall. 

u Who is’t ? ” he said thickly. 

“That cursed Yeomanry Serjeant, Arthur Skrene.” 

Tant crooked his arm again, uncocked the pistol and 
gave it back to Towle. The stutter was gone from his 
voice, the hitch from his mind. 

“ Put it out o’ the road,” he said ; “ it’s a spiteful mis- 
cheevous little thing. As to the man I don’t believe it on 
him.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ He’s a neighbour o’ mine.” 

w So’s the devil, so’s the parson.” 

u I’ve fo’t him. He’s a straight faighter and a good- 
plucked un, though he’s e’erything to larn pretty nigh that 
can be larnt. I’ll never believe it on him ; I’ll never be- 
lieve I’m mistaen in a man, once I’ve put my fisses up and 
looked into his eyes.” 

“Ax Jackson, ax Redditch, ax Dunsmore; they’ll be up 
soon. They were theer.” 

“Jackson — Redditch — Dunsmore ? I like ’em middling 
well ; they’re good chaps to goo on the spree wi’ ; they 
may be good stockingers for oat I know or care ; but I 
wain’t trust a man’s life to a bridge o’ their breath.” 

“ Let it pass ; we’ve plenty o’ men to draw on wi’out 
pressing the back’ard or faint-’earted into wer ranks. But” 


THE BADGER-BAITING 


1 3 l 

— and as he spoke he fixed an eye of singular cunning upon 
Tant, watching his looks with far more heed than he lis- 
tened to his words — “ but that theer Mester Serjeant Skrene 
een’t the immeejate business of to-night. We’ve a little 
job o’ the General’s at Rainworth. Are yer good for 
that ? ” 

“No not for that nayther, Jimmy Towle. For the 
future I’ll leave them to smash machines as can mek ’em or 
use ’em. It moot be more int’resting to such.” 

“ So yo’ve turned altogether chicken-’earted ? ” 

Tant turned on him fiercely, seemed on the point of put- 
ting the threat of his eyes into deed ; but on a sudden 
stayed his hand. Towle had not changed colour or de- 
meanour. 

“ Yo’re a plucky little bantam, I will say that, Towle, 
though yo’re a deal too fause for the taste of uz Johnny 
Whop-straws. The match wouldn’t be a fair un ; on’y 
don’t tempt me again ; I don’t often meddle wi’ second 
thoughts.” 

“ For once your second thoughts was best, Tant Ride- 
out. If yer’d touched me I’d a jobbed yer in the vitals wi’ 
this.” 

He drew a dagger from his coat pocket, and as he did 
so a threat of murderous malice tore through the mask of 
cold cunning. 

“It’s as I’d begun to think,” said Tant; “ these here 
midnight meddlings wi’ sword and pistol spoil a man for a 
faight. I’ll hae no more truck wi’ ’em. We part com- 
pany, Towle, but let’s part friends.” 

He held out his hand. Towle had already covered up 
his thoughts. 

“ Hoping for better times,” said Tant. 

“ For the farmer ? ” 

“ For all men.” 


I 3 2 


FOREST FOLK 


“ So be it. For all men.” 

They shook hands ; Tant went forth into the rain. But as 
soon as he breathed the cold night air his intoxication re- 
turned upon him doubly ; he caught his foot in a rut as he 
reeled across the road. He stumbled and would have 
fallen, but that he was upheld by the hands of men whom 
he had not seen before and hardly saw then. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MUSTER 

As the great-grandmother’s slow decay increased, Nell 
had taken to sleeping regularly at the Bottoms in the ad- 
joining chamber. On the night of the badger-baiting she 
was uneasy about Tant. Twice she put off going to bed, 
threw a shawl over her head and shoulders, and went down 
to the farmhouse to see whether he had yet returned. The 
first time Tish berated her for her pains. 

“ If yo think a man ’ll come the sooner becos a woman 
waits, yo’ve summat to larn, our Nell. M’appen yo’re 
afeared he’s gettin’ wet ? O’ th’ outside I mean. Get yo 
to bed ! It’s no night to be traipsin’ back’ards and for’ards 
i’ th’ road lookin’ for a bad sixpenny-bit.” 

The second time the house was cold and dark, but Tant 
was not in his room. She returned to the Bottoms, and 
after doing what she could for her exacting invalid went to 
bed. There was a period of complete stillness ; for the 
ever-dropping rain, the ever-dripping eaves made a sound 
that was rather understood than heard. At last as she was 
dozing off she began to hear voices and footsteps. That 
lumbering tread which came and stopped she knew to be 
Spettigew’s, who lived opposite. That step jerkily, 
jauntily unsteady was doubtless Sam Mosley’s on his heigh- 
hos; the man singing the “British Grenadiers” in a 
throaty tenor could be no other than Dick Dunstan the 
pensioner. 

Again there was silence ; but Nell was roused and could 
not settle again. After a time, perhaps an hour, she again 

133 


*34 


FOREST FOLK 


heard passers ; three several pairs of feet she reckoned up 
walking together. She rose hastily and looked out of the 
window. There was a moon above the horizon, but its 
light came sparsely, dismally through the clouds and the 
rain. It was enough however to make a glimmering dif- 
ference between the middle of the sandy road and its 
shadowy borders which underlay the houses. But the three 
passers walked on the further and darker side, and she 
could with her eyes make nothing certain of them ; though 
she was somehow convinced with that instinctive judgment 
which flies before seeing and hearing, that the midmost of 
the three, walking unsteadily and apparently supported by 
the others, was Tant. They were going in the opposite 
direction to Low Farm. 

She hurried on her clothes meaning to follow ; but while 
she did so two others passed the house in the same direc- 
tion. She heard them though they trod more stealthily 
than the first three, and saw them though they too kept in 
the darkest of the shade. She went down, opened the 
door and looked forth. Overhead there was enough ap- 
pearance of light indistinctly to part sky from earth. 
Spettigew’s house of mud and stud whitewashed was 
masked in a darkness somewhat less dense than the Mead- 
ows’s, which was of dull red brick. 

As she stepped out a man going the same way as the 
others almost walked into her. She drew back and bade 
him good-night. For a moment his answer hung, as though 
he were taken by surprise, then he returned her civility and 
went on ; but stopped as at an after-thought, returned a 
step or two and said : 

u Which is the road to Fishpool, missis ? ” 

“ Straight forrards.” 

Without another word he strode quickly out of sight. 
He was a little man, and spoke more like a townsman than 


THE MUSTER 


x 35 


a countryman. She was disturbed. She wondered what it 
meant. It was full seldom folk were abroad at Blidworth 
so many and so late, even after the encouragement of a 
badger-baiting. She threw her dark shawl over her head 
and shoulders and hastened after him. He walked with a 
stealthy speed, but she was in time to see him presently in- 
stead of keeping straight on for Fishpool, take the turn to 
the right for Blidworth. The deception in its pettiness 
had all the more sinister an appearance. She went back ; 
she felt impelled to search out the meaning of that unusual 
movement; she was fearful lest Tant should be involved 
in any mischief which might be afoot. There was no 
light in Spettigew’s cottage, but she entered by the unlocked 
door, and spoke from the stair-foot. 

u Are yo awake, Hannah ? ” 

u Awake ? Ah. Why not ? I mostly am,” was the 
answer in a sort of querulous patience. 

w I’ve got to goo away for a bit. Suld yo mind sleeping 
i’ my bed while I coom back ? Gret-granmam een’t very 
restless to-night.” 

“ I’ll do’t to oblige yer ; I’ll set yer at liberty in a 
minute.” 

“ As quick as yo can.” 

Mrs. Spettigew immediately arose. 

u Yo shan’t goo,” growled the man, roused from his 
quick-come beery slumber. 

The woman seemed to be huddling clothing on in the dark. 

u Yo shan’t goo,” he reiterated. 

She neither spoke nor desisted. 

cc I’ll mug yer i’ th’ mouth.” 

Her heavier tread showed that she had her shoes on. 

“ I’ve warned yer.” 

She seemed to be fumbling for something that did not 
come to hand. 


i3 6 


FOREST FOLK 


“ Yo shan’t play lackey to sich as her. Do yer 
hear ? ” 

u I’m not deaf.” 

She seemed to have found what she wanted, and made a 
move for the door. 

“Yo shan’t, I say. Who do yer belong ? Who’s yer 
mester ? ” 

She passed quietly forth, leaving him to mumble his 
drowsy threats to the open door. 

“ E’ery decent body ought to be abed — i’ their own 
beds.” He had but just tumbled in himself. “What 
does she want trailin’ about this time o’ night? Noat 

good, I reckon. The d d swine. B’leddy I shall hae 

to borrer that theer whip o’ th’ mester’s afore I’ve done 
wee ’er, I’m sartain sure I shall.” 

But he had dropped back into his beery slumber before 
his wife was settled in her fresh bed or Nell fifty yards 
from the door. She had set off with her back to the di- 
rection of her thoughts. Just at the beginning of the 
houses the grassy lane turns off which has already been 
mentioned. It was a rougher and somewhat less direct 
route to Blidworth, but she meant by running all the way 
to arrive thither before the little man who had so big a start 
of her. But as she approached the mouth of the lane, she 
saw in front of her by the glimmering light a man who 
came up the road and turned into it before her. It might 
be Tom Tacon; he lived at Clifty Nook. She called a 
good-night after him in country fashion. He made no an- 
swer; he trudged on in surly silence. It was not Tom 
Tacon; he was always civil when he had been drinking. 
It might be yet a disappointed poacher. She hesitated a 
moment whether she should observe his movements at a 
distance, or race across Jackman’s turnips and Ball’s wheat 
so heading him, or else return the way she had come and 


THE MUSTER 


x 37 


follow in the little man's track. While she hesitated she 
heard a click down the road as of a stone kicked by a 
stumbling foot, and immediately afterwards she heard the 
foot. She went towards it and met the man. 
“Good-night,” said Nell. 
u Good-night, my dear,” said the man. 
w Do yo know Tant Rideout ? ” 
w Know ’im ? Ah ; he’s a mate o' mine.” 
u Hae yo seed ’im to-night ? ” 
w Seed 'im ? Mebbe I hev.” 
u Wheer did yer see him ? ” 

“ That’s no matter, for he een't theer now. But I 
hain’t said I did see ’im.” 

She stood, he came nearer. She did not know his voice ; 
she thought he was probably a stockinger from Calverton or 
Arnold. 

“ Wheer is he now ? ” 

u There’s better men nor him. What’s he to yo that 
yer mek sich a to-do about ’im ? ” 

M He’s a bit of a ’quaintance o’ mine. Wheer has he 
gone ? ” 

“The opposyte road to what I’m gooin’.” 

She could not of course see the knowing wink that ac- 
companied the words, but there seemed to be a trace of it, 
perceptible to her ear, in the tone of his voice. 

“ And wheer are yo gooing ? ” 

“ If yo’ll coom along wi’ me, I’ll tell yer.” 

“ I’ll goo a little way.” 

He walked unsteadily and spoke thickly ; he appeared to 
have been drinking, but she had brought a cudgel in her 
hand and was afraid of no single man. She walked abreast 
of him at a yard’s distance, keeping a wary eye on his 
movements. 

“ I’m doing as yo wish, now tell me,” 


FOREST FOLK 


138 

u Y’ar a wakken madam, yo are. There een’t much as 
yo ain’t up to.” 

As he sidled nearer she edged away. She thought she 
could hear footsteps behind them deadened by the deep sand 
or the short grass. 

“ Yo hain’t telled me wheer yo’re gooing.” 
u How oad are yer ? Atween yer fifteent an’ fiftiet year ? 
Why I ho’d that to be the prime o’ life.” 
u Coom, yo mun be a man o’ your word.” 
u I wish I could see yer ; Fm that partic’lar I can’t 
abide kissin’ a dirty mug.” 
u Wheer are we gooin’ ? ” 

Still he sidled nearer and still she drew away. 
u Don’t be so stand-offish, Nanny dear.” 

The footsteps behind were plainly audible now. 
u I wain’t hae noat to say to yer while yo’ve answered 
my question.” 

“ We’re gooin’ to Rain’orth. I mean Blid’orth. An’ 
now ” 

u Is that little man gooing with yer? ” 
u Ah. I said Blid’orth, yo unnerstan’ ? An’ now yo’ve 
got to be as free wi’ me as I’ve bin wi’ yo.” 
w What are yer gooin’ theer for ? ” 

u Dang the huzzy’s questions ! I’m on strike now. 
Not anoother word while yo’ve gied me a kiss.” 

She had to be constantly alert to keep him at arm’s length ; 
when she looked back she thought she could see two shadowy 
forms appurtenant to the quickly approaching footsteps. 

u Yo nedn’t say, I know; yo’re gooin’ to Rain’orth to 
call of Sam Derry.” 

u D n yer, I said Blid’orth ! But if yer know, yer 

gallows besom, why the devil do yer ax ? Now for that 
kiss ! Yo can mek it a kiss an’ a huggle.” 

His libertine hands were already upon her, but a smart 


THE MUSTER 


139 


smack in the face sent him staggering back„ In a moment 
she was over the adjacent hedge and out of knowledge of 
his surprised faculties. She ran a little way through the 
wet stubble by the hedge side, then crouched and listened. 
The man made no pursuit, was capable of none. He 
stood and swore at random into the night until he was 
joined by two men from behind, who hearing the disturb- 
ance had hastened up. The three passed on close by Nell, 
who heard the fellow loudly commit her and all woman- 
kind to more than torrid regions. 

u The brazen huzzy ! She promised me a smack i’ th’ 
mouth an’ gied me one i’ th’ eye. I don’t call that jan- 
nocky.” 

But his comrades’ laughter hardly sympathised with his 
complaint. 

“ It’s just as well for thee, Davy,” said the soberest of 
the three voices ; “ m’appen it’ll caution thee to hae no 
truck wi’ them sort o’ cattle. An’ what ’ud he say, if he 
knowed to’t ? ” 

“ He don’t know, and I shouldn’t care a devil’s hop if ’e 
did.” 

And so they passed on, he still swearing both particularly 
and at large. Then Nell rose from her ambush and fol- 
lowed them noiselessly in the shade of the hedge. But 
when they reached the two or three scattered houses at that 
end of the village, she turned from their direct pursuit and 
passing through a gate ran down the fields towards Clifty 
Nook. This is at the foot of the northern ascent to Blid- 
worth, and was then a narrow passage overhung by red 
sandstone rocks. Close by is a meeting of lanes, leading to 
Farnsfield on the east, southwards to Oxton by way of the 
High Farm and Lay Cross, and northwards to Worksop 
and Mansfield. This last is also the route to Rainworth, a 
hamlet about two miles off. 


140 


FOREST FOLK 


Under the hill it was dark, and still darker beneath the 
hedge which at the foot of it divided the meadow from the 
road. It was a hedge high and bushy at the top, but with 
a thin bottom which let through a watery glimmer from the 
sandy middle of the track. In its black shadow Nell took 
her stand, stilled her breathing and listened ; then walked a 
few yards further, stealthily, under the hedge, and again 
stopped, listened and looked. There was nothing but the 
natural night sounds and sights of that season. The rain 
dripped steadily down ; now and again she felt on her face 
the moist touch of a falling leaf, like some clammy night- 
thing. But she knew what it was; she knew that those 
patches of a faint whitish glint like little pools of moonless 
water were the backs of bullocks which had their lair be- 
neath the hedge ; she knew that those ghostly sighs were 
but their laborious breathing. 

She moved on again, going more quickly in her anxious 
impatience, when in carefully avoiding one of the whitish 
patches she stumbled against the head of a darker-hued 
beast ; black she always declared that it was ; that it might 
have been merely a complete red she would not hear of. 
The beast, red or black, flung his head up, and she fell over 
it to the ground. 

M What’s that ? ” said a voice not above two yards from 
her on the other side of the hedge. 

The beast got up in heavy-footed surprise and moved 
off ; she lay still where she had fallen all her length along 
the drenched herbage. 

u It’s only a d d cow,” said another voice, not so 

loud. u And here’s them swinish loiterers coming up at 
last.” 

Nell thought the second voice was like the little man’s 
who had asked her the way to Fishpool, and had not gone 
thither. But there were approaching footsteps, and with 


THE MUSTER 


141 


strained eyes she could see through the hedge shadowy 
somethings go to meet them. There were muttered words 
of stern reproof and uncertain excuse j there was the ap- 
proach from the rear of other men, shadowy, stealthy; 
there was the utterance of curt commands cautiously 
pitched. Nell again thought the little man was the chief 
speaker. She had ventured to rise from the ground, but 
could not get near enough to hear what was said. Once 
or twice she saw or fancied she saw a metallic gleam 
among the shapes that stood or stirred ; once or twice she 
certainly heard a faint metallic chink, such as half-pence 
might make against the bunch of keys in a woman’s 
pocket. Soon there was the squishy tread of passing feet 
on the sodden grass by the roadside, their numbers being as 
uncountable as shadows among shadows. Nell pushed 
through a gap in the hedge and moved noiselessly after 
them. They turned to the right and went briskly north- 
wards, which was the direction of Rainworth. The rain 
fell on, the moon was near its setting and the night yet 
darker. 

Was Tant among them? She must needs satisfy her- 
self. At the foot of Brick-kiln Hill she again went aside 
by a path which led to Thorny Abbey. When she had 
got a safe distance from the road, she raced parallel to it up 
the watery furrow of a stiff clay fallow. The wet flew 
about her legs ; the tenacious soil almost glued her feet to 
the ground ; one of her shoes was wrenched off and she had 
to step back and grope for it. In spite of that delay she 
returned to the road at the top of the hill well ahead of the 
band of conspirators. She crouched behind a clump of 
wayside broom close by the turn for Rainworth, and let 
them pass. She could have touched them one by one as 
they passed and turned for Rainworth. There were but 
seven or eight of them, and she was convinced that there 


I 4 2 


FOREST FOLK 


was none among them of Tant’s inches, hardly one taller 
than herself. Neither was there one so short as the little 
man ; her suspicions were disappointed. 

In the inactive minute while they were getting beyond 
hearing there was time for thought 5 time for pity of Sam 
Derry whom she knew to be a hard-working man with a 
family, for disapproval of an act of destructive violence, 
both sentiments natural to a woman ; time also to heat to a 
glow her disposition actively to resist oppression, more a 
man’s quality than a woman’s. And Tant was not there. 
She lifted up her skirts as high as her knees and raced back 
along the road. 

All the mile and a half she ran to High Farm, where she 
saw most hope of help. The house was locked up and 
dark; it was midnight. She knocked loudly at the door, 
but roused no answer. She cast gravel from the drive at 
one or two of the windows, and was more successful. The 
first to awake was Miss Skrene, who in much alarm called 
her brother up. He put his head out and made inquiry. 
Nell told him shortly how things stood. He was quickly 
down. She helped him to saddle his charger by the light 
of the stable lantern, only necessary speech passing between 
them. As she tightened the girth she bethought herself of 
what she had hitherto overlooked, that Tant and his com- 
rades might have gone on to Rainworth before the little 
band which she had followed. She was half in a mind to 
undo the buckle again ; she did not, she pulled it a little 
tighter. 

“ You’d make a gallant soldier’s wife, Miss Rideout,” 
said Arthur, meaning a compliment. 

Apparently however it was not to her mind, whether as 
to the quality of it or as compliment per se. 

“I’ve no opinion o’ sojers,” she said; “ nayther play- 
sojers nor workaday-sojers.” 


THE MUSTER 


H3 


“Thanks for the play-soldiers, ” said Arthur lightly, as 
he loaded his carbine, then slung it up in its case. 

It looked very murderous to her. He mounted, but she 
still held his horse by the bridle. 

No, her pride would not let her utter the special request 
she had in thought, she merged it in a general one. 

u Don’t be too ready wi’ that thing, Serjeant Skrene,” 
she said; “they’re not Frenchies yo’re gooing again. The 
lads hae their troubles too ; don’t be too hard on ’em.” 

“ If I should give them a little less than their deserts, it 
will be because the priming’s damp. Or for your request’s 
sake, Miss Rideout.” 

“ Do’t for your own sake. ’Twill be a more human 
sort o’ reason nor the one and a more accountable sort nor 
the tother.” She held the gate open for him. “ Above 
all, ride wi’ your eyes in your head. The roads are dark 
and the hedges high ; there’s good cover for varmin.” 

“ Nay, I’ll never calculate what I can’t foresee. One 
more thing. Can I get you to rouse Selby up ? His pres- 
ence would add to my sister’s sense of security.” 

She promised and he rode off. As he rode eyes watched 
him from behind his own hedge ; a musket was levelled at 
him, might have ended his tale there and then; but the 
sudden sound hard by of Nell beating at Selby’s door made 
the holder of it pause, with his finger slackly on the trigger. 
The horse bore his rider and the opportunity swiftly off. 
Selby having been fetched sleepy and crusty out of bed pro- 
ceeded to do the like by Wells, who lived in the adjoining 
cottage by the roadside, not because he thought there was 
any need but by way of indirect retaliation. 

Meanwhile Nell returned to the house. Her quiet tap at the 
back door seemed something alarming to the disturbed women 
within, but by and by the assurance of her voice gained her 
a hesitating admission. Once entered, her courageous and 


1 44 


FOREST FOLK 


unflurried presence seemed a real accession of strength to 
the inmates. These comprised beside the young lady, the 
cook and the dairymaid, Harris the wagoner and Charley 
Strong the middleman, who slept in the house. Harris be- 
tween the beginning and the end of a yawn had said, “A 
good night’s rest’s worth more nor health, wealth or a good 
supper,” and then sank down on the first chair. The rest 
were huddled together in the kitchen without regard to 
precedence, Charley being most within the chimney, and 
Miss Skrene by some inches nearest the door. She and 
Nell had never before met fairly face to face, and they each 
looked at the other with some curiosity. Nell saw a little 
daunted creature whose dark sleep-ravelled hair overhung a 
pale face, but with a pair of eyes which promised more 
courage than she showed. Lois saw a woman as tall as a 
man, and with a man’s frankness of outlook, yet a woman 
all over. She had a stout thorn-stick in her hand, was 
roughly dressed, and the rain dripped from her drenched 
skirts and the fringes of her shawl ; but her rude equipment 
and the injury of the elements did not in the least mar, 
rather enhanced, her striking presence. 

While the cook began to kindle a fire in the wide grate, 
Nell put back her moist shawl from her head and tried to 
rouse the young lady’s confidence. 

u Yo mootn’t be afeared ; there’s no danger hereabouts, 
not a scrap ; all them dare-devils are at Rain’orth by this.” 
44 How do you know ? ” 

44 I watched ’em tek the turn.” 

44 How durst you ? ” 

44 I kep’ a good lookout and my stick handy.” 

Harris yawned and yawned again. 

4t How far is Rainworth ? ” 

14 The best end o’ three mile.” 

Lois shuddered ; it seemed all too near. 


THE MUSTER 


i45 


u Besides my brother will be there, won’t he ? ” 
ct Unless he misses his road. And if he does he’ll be 
fine and mad at somebody or something, I reckon. But 
he has been out afore, yo suld be getting used to it.” 

u But I didn’t know ; he led me to believe that he was 
called out to — just to practise being called out.” 

u Suld yo like him on’y to practise ? Just don his uni- 
form on to air it, and doff it off to spare it ? Not yo.” 
w You haven’t got a brother there, I perceive.” 

Nell did not answer; she stood stock-still in the midst 
of the floor, which the drip from her garments had wetted 
round about. But presently she roused herself and looked 
towards the door. 

M I moot be gooing,” she said. w I’m making a pond i’ 
th’ middle o’ th’ floor, and if your Mary’s like our Tish 
she’ll hae summat to say. I’ll goo and shift mysen.” 

“ Don’t go, Miss Rideout,” cried Miss Skrene, Mary 
and the dairymaid simultaneously. 

“ I can’t offer you a change,” said Lois ; “ my things 
would seem like doll’s rags on you, but Mary — she’s broad, 
if she’s not very long — and if you wouldn’t mind allowing 
the too much at the waist to make up for the too little at 

the ankles, I’m sure she ” 

w Oh, yes, Miss Rideout ! and welcome ! ” cried Mary, 
who was still crouching over the half-kindled fire. 

“ I’ve summat to see to down yonner,” said Nell. “ If 
I can I’ll come round again in a while.” 

Just then Selby opened the outer door, and between his 
entrance and Wells’s she managed to slip out without fur- 
ther solicitation or excuse. She entered her own dark 
house and went up-stairs. Tant’s bed was still empty of 
him. While she made a necessary change of clothing, she 
was irresolute whether or not she should next return and 
see how her great-grandmother fared. As soon as she was 


146 


FOREST FOLK 


dressed she again went forth. She walked indeed towards 
the Bottoms, but her thoughts perhaps went other ways; 
certainly her eyes sometimes did, up the hill for instance to 
her right. The moon had set, relinquishing her feeble 
controversy with the darkness. 

The first time of her so looking up-hill she hardly saw, 
the next time she fully perceived, a dull red glow hung up 
on the black wall of night. It was small and about where 
she would expect to see the High House by day, yet it was 
too red and too variable to be candle-shine from window or 
lantern. But while she looked, and she did not look long, 
it grew and grew, a dull red glow whose light was refused 
by the obstinate darkness. Then suddenly a flame sprang 
up, yellow mingled with red. It sank, only to spring up 
again larger and brighter, not in the house though hard 
by, for the glare reddened its white walls. Nell stood no 
longer; she ran back to the house, got the lantern and 
entered the stable. How she missed old Hasty at that mo- 
ment ! In Hasty’s stall there was a half-broken colt with 
a vile temper, which Tant had bought at Retford Hop fair 
and given the name of Ripper; a compact villanous-eyed 
animal, dark chestnut as to colour and standing an inch 
over fifteen. Him for want of better Nell saddled and 
bridled, led forth, mounted, then putting a gently resolute 
hand to either rein galloped off up-hill in the direction of 
that increasing blaze; which now in spite of the unceasing 
rain began to make a ring of light in the dark low-hung 
sky. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE WRONG HOUSE 

A few minutes after Nell left, Miss Skrene, heartened 
a little by the presence of the men, went with a candle into 
her usual sitting-room for a book or something. It was a 
largish oblong room, the principal window being at the 
western end, a considerable bookcase at the other, and in 
the midst a round dining-table fronting the fireplace ; near 
which was Lois’s spinnet, so placed that the light of the 
setting sun would fall on it through a small window near 
the southwest angle. Lois as she entered gave a shiver, 
which was partly on account of the fireless chill of the 
room, partly perhaps in fear of its unlighted ends and cor- 
ners and of the big black shadow under the table. She 
stood, but through the open doors the men’s heavy voices 
rumbled in from the kitchen encouraging her. Candle in 
hand she crossed to the bookcase; the shadows fled before 
her, but with a sort of timorous boldness, very like her 
own, kept at a little distance, never still. She stood hold- 
ing the light above her head so as to examine the lettered 
backs of the books on an upper shelf. 

All at once there was a fearful crash behind her at the 
other end of the room, the splintering of wood and the 
shriller shivering of glass. She turned ; the large window 
had fallen in bodily as at some violent battering from with- 
out. Before her eyes out of the utter dark into the inner 
dimness a tall rough fellow staggered over the ruins of the 
window. She knew him; and the knowledge was worse 
than the most fanciful ignorance. Behind him the indis- 

147 


148 


FOREST FOLK 


tinct forms of other men were darkly visible, their faces 
somehow veiled as with a threat. 

She did not cry, she did not fall, she did not even drop 
the candle; she continued holding it high as though frozen 
into immobility. 

The first-comer came towards her with a heavy indi- 
rectness more terrible to her than a steadily-aimed hostility. 
Further in pushed his followers, a mass of moving dark 
only broken here and there by the furtive glitter, coming 
and going, of homicidal steel. What seemed more appal- 
ling was that their faces, which should have reflected some- 
what however wanly of the candle gleam, were diabolically 
black ; all but the first ruffian’s, his was savagely human. 

Then surely was the time for her to have attempted to 
fly, to have cried out, to have dropped, to have died of 
fright. She neither fled, nor cried, nor fell; she stood 
fixed and held the candle high. There was silence for a 
moment. Outside the shattered window she heard the soft 
ceaseless drip of the rain, as though it mattered whether it 
were fine weather or foul. 

The others stopped on the further side of the centre- 
table ; their leader came so close to her that she could see 
and did the shiny rain-streaks on the bare arm of the hand 
which held a flail; she was frozenly expecting the blow. 
But she did not feel it. As soon as he came within strik- 
ing distance he looked at her mazedly, he fell back from her, 
he turned to his men and cried out in a voice like horror : 

u It’s the wrong house ! ” 

ct No ; it’s the right un ! ” answered a voice behind. 

“ Yo said — what did yo say ? Rain’orth or summat.” 

u An’ here’s the rain; that’s near enough.” 

And as voices behind were uttered, variously brutal, the 
speakers one by one seemed to come into distincter vision, 
a rain-soaked crew of masked desperadoes. 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


149 


“ Down with the murderer of George Ellis ! ” 
u Down to hell wee’m ! ” 

“ Burn ’im up stick an’ stock ! ” 
u And chuck hissen into the hottest o’ the bunfire ! ” 
u Clear out of here ! ” shouted the first speaker in a ter- 
rible voice more menacing than his uplifted flail. u This 
is no place for such as me and yo. Clear out, I say ! ” 
“Not yet awhile, Tant Rideout,” said his first answerer, 
coming forward in front of the table, a little man with a 
pistol in his hand. “ If yer don’t want to help the work 
yer may sit yer down an’ watch uz perform it, but by God 
yer shan’t stop it.” 

“ It is stopped ! ” 

Tant Rideout threw his arms about the little man, con- 
fining his hands also in their iron bands. The little man 
struggled furiously, during which his pistol went off, in- 
effectively shattering a vase on the chimneypiece, but the 
bands around him tightened, he was lifted up, carried to 
the window and flung forth into the dark. Immediately 
two strong masked fellows seized Tant each by an elbow. 
He violently wrenched himself loose from the one, and in 
a twinkling had the other over his thigh. Up went the 
man’s heels, down went his head, with great force striking 
a corner of Lois’s spinnet. He lay and was in no haste to 
rise. The trembling chords of the poor little instrument 
raised a feeble wail and were still again. 

“ Yo’re all afraid on ’im ! ” cried the little man out of 
the dark. 

He himself rushed in again, tiger-like, with a murderous 
knife in his hand. He sprang at Tant, who with his flail 
dealt him a disabling blow across the arm. Lois heard the 
bone crack, heard the knife drop. She still stood looking 
on and holding the candle, unable to move, unable to faint 
and fall. The little man went aside, but sticks and steel 


150 


FOREST FOLK 


and curses were raised against his antagonist. The passion 
of the masked faces could not be seen ; it was the more 
terrible. Lois saw a ravel of blows ; saw Tant’s uncovered 
head flowing with blood, but how it came about did not 
distinctly see. It was a wonder against such an onslaught 
that he stood at all, with but that hinged stick in his hand. 

He fought gallantly, with a deliberate fury ; his desper- 
ation had none of despair’s chill in it. He set his mark 
upon many, but could not give an eye to all his adversaries 
at once, and many a one marked him. Round him they 
swarmed, smiting with bludgeons, slashing with hedge- 
knives and old swords, thrusting with hay-forks, devil- 
visaged desperadoes; he with his face gory but uncraped, 
seemed human in comparison. Lois had somehow been 
compelled to understand that he was fighting in her de- 
fence. But he was pushed further and further from the 
window by mere numbers. 

And then, just as clearly as though her every faculty had 
been disengaged, she smelt the smell of burning, and first 
saw the blaze as of a conflagration without in the mid air. 
It lighted the leafless top of an old oak which faced that 
part of the house, but left its bulk in the gloom. The 
moment seemed at hand when she must drop the candle 
and see no more. But when despair was nearest, when 
there was hardly. room between her and her defender for 
the backward swing of the flail, suddenly he cast from him 
his ineffectual weapon and stooped under the heavy oaken 
centre-table. They thought he was cowering from them, 
and raised a kind of brute laugh. But he seized the table 
by its pedestal and uplifted it, presenting its round rim to 
his opponents shield-wise. Its use however was rather as 
a battering-ram. Forthwith he dashed upon them with as- 
tonishing force. One man who had been peeping under 
the table received it full on the crown of his head and fell 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


I 5 I 

senseless; over his body Tant rushed, and with irresistible 
impact drove two of his chief assailants back to the 
window. 

w What are yo doin’, comrades ? We’ve set the vill- 
yand’s barn all of a blaze.” 

It was the speech of an unapparent speaker outside ; 
and immediately on that the thud was heard of a horse’s 
impatient hoofs on the soft ground. 

“ What the h ’s that ? ” said the man in the room 

nearest the window. 

“ It’s the Yeomanry ! ” said the man furthest from it. 

Two or three slipped out; the rest all wavered, all 
looked over their shoulders. The smoky blaze in upper 
air made the nether gloom all the obscurer; wherein 
nevertheless those next the window could descry the black 
outline of a horse and his rider, the horse madly rearing 
amid the group of outside rioters. They pushed forth ; 
the room was emptied of all but Lois and Tant. Again 
the horse reared — was it a woman on his back ? — and as 
his forefeet touched ground there was a man’s cry of pain. 
The rioters made a ring. A third time the horse reared — 
it was a woman on his back — reared and dropped. At the 
same moment there was the sounding smack of a whip ; 
he bounded forward, overturning those who stood in his 
way. But his rider checked him on the instant, and with 
the cruel curb backed him again to the window ; switching 
his tail and mightily resenting it, back he was forced. 

“Strike me dead, if it een’t his sister! ” 

So it was, if Tant’s sister were meant. And while she 
was thrusting the angry colt in among them, she was 
thinking, “ M’appen Tant’s here;” and thinking, “But if 
he is, he’ll be forrard where the faighting is ; ” and think- 
ing, “ If he een’t, God help us ! I can’t.” 

One fellow hit the colt on the shoulder with a bludgeon, 


I 5 2 


FOREST FOLK 


another tried to catch at his bridle, increasing his fury. 
Just then Harris, with a fowling-piece in his hand and 
whisperingly encouraged by Selby and Wells from the rear, 
stole up to the door of the room and peeped in. He saw 
his mistress wide-eyed, still holding the candle ; he saw 
one man with his back to him at the further end. Whereby 
much emboldened he went two steps in on tiptoe and 
lifted his fowling-piece. There were curses without and 
rough angry exclamations. 

w Shoot the four-legged devil ! ” 

“ And the two-legged un atop on ’im ! ” 

“ My priming’s damp, else I’d a gen ’em both pepper 
afore this.” 

u This ’ere ’ll tickle ’im up.” 

The speaker thrust with a pitchfork at the animal’s 
quarters. Instantly, before his rider had cried u Look 
out ! ” the iron-shod hoofs shot forth. There was the thud 
of hard against soft, mixed with the sharp crack of a frac- 
ture ; there was the fall of a man ; there was a sickening 
groan. At the same moment Tant had turned and Harris 
had made haste to fire. Tant dropped, Lois dropped, the 
candle was extinguished. Nell for the moment at the 
sound of the groan — it might have been Tant’s — lost com- 
mand of herself and her startled horse; he bolted off 
madly down the hill. Frightened by the sudden failure of 
light, Harris and his associates fled back into the kitchen. 

For a minute there was a listening stillness, only broken 
by the groans of the injured and the rivalry of two crow- 
ing cocks, which took the riot of the flames for the gen- 
erous haste of day. Then the little man, the leader of the 
gang, spoke. 

“ Now we have ’em, lads ! Rideout’s knocked o’ the 
head by his own kind friends. In wi’ yer ! We’ll not 
leave stick nor stun stanning in its place.” 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


] 53 


He had made a sling for his broken arm with his necker- 
chief and seemed full of a mischievous courage ; but as he 
spoke a scout whom he had left upon the road came run- 
ning in. 

“The Yeomanry’s but ! ” he said. 

Not far off could be heard the galloping of horses on 
the stony road. 

“ Then we’ve on’y to get in and keep ’em out. Come 
on, lads ! ” 

He stepped through the window, but the lads hung back. 

44 Fifteen’s got ’is foot scrushed,” said one. 

44 Ben’s leg’s broke, I doubt,” said another, kneeling by 
the man who had received Ripper’s kick ; he lay on the 
wet turf and groaned. 

“And wheer’s oad Twenty-one ? ” said a third. 

u In theer, feelin’ badly,” said a fourth. 

The clatter of the cavalry drew nearer; there needed no 
listening. 

44 If I warn’t sure i’ my mind o’ coming back another 
day wi’ better fortune,” said their leader, 44 1 wouldn’t stir a 
peg. Yo two, numbers Five and Fourteen, come in and 
help Twenty-one out. Not him, yo fools! that’s the 
traitor.” 

44 Should I nick ’im wi’ this ? ” said a man with a hand- 
bill. 

“Not for oat. Leave ’im to be hung by his friends. 
Eleven and Thirty-six, hoist Nineteen up as best yer can. 
Silence ! stop that woman’s noise ; a brucken leg’s better 
nor a brucken neck.” 

For the horsemen were heard riding in at the back of 
the premises. Towle went first without hurry; the others 
followed, carrying or supporting their injured comrades. 
He led them down the grassy slope away from the road. 
The mischievous light of their own kindling did not dis- 


154 


FOREST FOLK 


cover them ; the ground fell away so rapidly that they were 
under the shoulder of the hill as soon as they had left the 
dark shadow of the house. The rain-drenched dispirited 
crew disappeared, things of the night into the night ; while 
Arthur, hot with rage and the speed he had made, entered 
the house by the back door, he and the Yeomanry with him. 

At his approach with the half-dozen hussars whom he 
had mustered, the first and smaller gang had desisted from 
their not very desperate attack upon Sam Derry’s shop at 
Rainworth ; probably it was more or less of a feint. And 
immediately on their retreat the conspicuous fire in the 
direction of High Farm had been noticed. Skrene had 
left a couple of troopers on guard over the threatened 
machinery, and himself with the rest had galloped back. 
As he rode down the long gentle slope to the house he had 
ample time, for all the reckless haste he made, to imagine 
with many differing degrees of fear the calamity that had 
befallen him. 

In the sum he saw a great red blaze behind columns of 
smoke, which at first rising severally swelled out overhead 
until they formed one densely rolling mass, whose nodding 
head was lost in the clouds while its trailing skirts ob- 
scurely swept the ground. But what part of it lay directly 
between the eye and the fierce light it was seen by was 
visible in every detail, every twist and curl and puff and 
larger volume grandiosely extended ; in every degree of 
transparency, from the purely diaphanous, a mere net to 
catch the reds and yellows of the fire, to the thick reek 
which completely intercepted them. And between the two 
extremes intermingled rarities and densenesses which vari- 
ously transmitting and arresting colour gave also of their 
own; orange and amber, brown of every sombre shade in- 
clining both to red and to yellow, uncertain greens, and 
here and there a fleece of woolly white. 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


i55 


Arthur understood that the smoke came from the stack- 
yard, where the different attempts made to fire the stacks 
had been partly frustrated by the rain. The great barn 
however with its roofed-in mow of barley had been easily 
kindled, and now the flames were spreading from it on 
either side to the stabling and the implement-shed. He won- 
dered what had become of Lois and whether the house were 
intact; he had time for that, madly galloping as he was, 
time and time to spare. 

The flickering redness of the windows might be from the 
inside, might be a mere reflection. He hoped and he 
feared, and most he feared. As they rode past the back 
premises they heard the scream of a horse in pain or terror 
above a tumultuous lowing, squealing, neighing, bleating, 
crowing of newly-uproused fowl and beast. 

Arthur detailed off two of the hussars to see what could 
be done for the poor animals, while he with the remaining 
two entered the house. In reply to his quick questions the 
men in the kitchen were almost as incoherent as the maids. 
The rioters had made forcible entry after such resistance as 
three or three and a bit could offer to a hundred — to five 
hundred. The house was then in their possession. And 
their mistress ? They could not say ; they thought — they 
were afraid — they hoped. Arthur snatched the candle up, 
and with sword in hand he and his two men went hotly to 
meet them. But the house was still, still and dark. In- 
voluntarily they stopped in the hall and listened. Not a 
sound but what they brought with them. Not a sound ? 
Yes, a little sound through the open door hard by, a little 
sound of much pain. 

He entered, they entered; felt the moist night air, saw 
the ruin and disorder, saw a man lying all his length in a 
red death as it seemed, saw the young lady by the book- 
case not quite motionless, in the deadly anguish of return- 


i 5 6 


FOREST FOLK 


ing life. She was carried forth to a neighbouring apart- 
ment, laid on a couch, and the cook and dairymaid sum- 
moned. There was no sign of injury on her ; she seemed 
to have only the pain of sensibility. She opened her eyes 
once, and once before she closed them again spoke, in a 
dying voice, incomprehensively : 

w It’s the wrong house.” 

The men had for the present to leave the women to do 
the best they could for her with cold water and clamour ; 
they themselves returned to the scene of disorder. Selby, 
Wells, Harris and Charley with reviving courage followed 
them in. Their first attention was directed to the man 
who lay like dead upon the floor. 

Selby and Wells said, 44 That’s the man we shot.” 

Harris said, 44 That’s the man I shot.” 

All together with even closer agreement said, M It’s Tant 
Rideout ! ” 

Nell Rideout was almost in time to hear them ; she rode 
up to the window the moment after. 

44 Who’s there ? ” she said. u Friends or unfriends ? ” 

u I believe, Miss Rideout,” answered Arthur cold and 
stern, 44 there is at least one of your friends here.” 

She slipped off her horse and looked in. 

11 Yo’ve druv ’em off, I see,” she said. 

44 All but one,” said Arthur. 

The men who stood about the body moved aside that 
she might see it. And she did see it. All the illumination 
of the poor kitchen dip, which one of the yeomen held low, 
seemed to be concentrated on a white face and long hair, 
which in that light was almost of a colour with the blood 
it was dabbled in. 

44 Will somebody come and ho’d my hoss ? ” she said. 

Selby bade Charley, but he shrank back from the dark 
window, so Harris went. 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


l 57 


“ Don’t yek the bridle ; he wain’t stan’ it. Be gentle 
wee ’im, and firm. ,, 

She went in ; the men stood yet a little further off. She 
stooped and put a hand on his forehead away from the 
blood. 

u Tant, lad,” she said, “what hae yer been agate on 
now ? ” 

u He een’t dead,” she said ; u our side o’ the family teks 
a frightful deal o’ killing.” 

She went and took Arthur’s hand and knelt to him. 

“ Yo wain’t hang him, Mr. Skrene ? ” she said. 

w That, Miss Rideout, isn’t for me either to do or not to 
do,” said Arthur. 

“ He might brek a winder — he’s wild and ower wild, 
that I own — but he wouldn’t set fire to a stack ; never ! 
He’s a farmer hissen, and loves the sweet smell o’ the straw 
and the grain.” 

u It’s not only that ; my sister lies in the next room un- 
conscious. How far her injuries go I cannot at present 
say.” 

u Well-a-day! well-a-day ! I’m sorry, sorry ! the little 
lady ! But he didn’t do that. As if I’d been there, he 
didn’t. He’d be the first to withstand it. Suld I kneel for 
him if I weren’t sure on’t ? ” 

“ Again I say, it is not in my hands, Miss Rideout ; I 
can’t interfere with the workings of justice.” 

She rose from her knees ; a little paler but further from 
tears. 

“M’appen yo’d let me tek and nurse him while he’s 
better? I’d deal jannocky.” 

“The constable must be sent for. You’d better ask 
him, Miss Rideout.” 

There was a gleam of fierce passion in her face and voice 
as she said : 


158 


FOREST FOLK 


u D’yer think I’d kneel to Tommy White ? ” 

The look or the words found a weak place somewhere 
in his armour; he had nothing to reply. She turned again 
to her brother. 

u Who’ll help me,” she said, “ to carry him out into the 
kitchen ? He’s spoiling a fine carpet.” 

A stalwart yeoman proffered himself ; but before they 
raised the wounded man she looked round and said : 
u Who shot him ? ” 

“ Him and him and him,” said the yeoman, pointing to 
Selby, to Wells and to the dark window. 

u I niver did,” said Selby, u so no lies about it.” 
u No more did I,” said Wells. 

u 1 niver knew ’twar him,” protested Harris through the 
window. 

“ I wish ’t had bin a better shot nor yo, Jack ; he’d a het 
him two inch to the raight, plump i’ the throttle.” 

The rest of the men followed Arthur out into the burn- 
ing yard. The yeoman lifted Tant by the feet; Nell who 
chose the head had the heavier burden. They carried him 
into the kitchen and laid him outstretched along the brick 
floor. As they did so he opened his eyes, muttered some- 
thing about Number Thirty, and closed them again. The 
yeoman went out ; Nell was left alone to her sorry task of 
recovery. She went to work by a strange light ; the red 
gleam from the conflagration coming through the window 
altogether predominated over the dim yellow of the candle. 
She could hear the voices of the men and the brutes as 
though she were among them ; the roar also of the fire and 
the hiss of water tossed into it by ineffective bucketfuls. 
She tore off her own linen to make a compress for the 
wound, a wide red rent in his left shoulder, and band- 
aged it closely up with the drier half of the shawl she was 
wearing. 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


159 

“Tant, lad,” she said, u yo wain’t thank me for this if 
yo come to know.” 

Meanwhile Skrene had returned to his sister, who had 
made a further gain of consciousness, but was still pitiably 
faint. He sent the cook into the kitchen to give Miss 
Rideout what help she needed. She would accept nothing 
but a bowl of cold water, wherewith to wash a little of the 
gore from her brother’s face and hair. 

“ I wouldn’t hae him goo to jail,” she said, u wi’ a skin 
like a butcher’s. But how’s the young lady ? ” Having 
been answered she said again, M Goo out, Mary, wheer 
yo’re needed. If yo nubbut carry watter in a cup, yo’ll gie 
cupfuls o’ help.” 

She was just finishing when Arthur came in. 

“ I have sent for the doctor, Miss Rideout,” he said. 

“ And the constable ? ” 

“ Of course he will attend your brother equally with my 
sister.” 

u The doctor yo mean. Ay. If I hadn’t knowed yo’d 
cure him yoursens to kill him, d’yer think I’d ha crooked 
my little finger to this ? No ! ” 

Tant turned a little and moaned, and her voice softened 
to the mother’s coo. 

u Lig still, lad, lig still. What does ta want ? Thee’ll 
shift tha bandages. And what then ? ” 

She turned to Arthur. 

“ M’appen, sir, yo think him noat better nor a great fow 
jail-bird, wi’ that mucky coat on, and that white wheer it 
suld be red, that red wheer it suld be white ? But if yo 
could ha’ seed him weshed and combed and respectably 
dressed, and the sun shining on his face of a morning, 

yo’d Coom, let’s goo and see what we can save of 

stick and stock.” 

Hour after hour they toiled, and with the help of the 


i6o 


FOREST FOLK 


weather were able to save the stackyard from complete de- 
struction, but the great barn and the outbuildings thereto 
adjacent proved beyond recovery. There was some small 
loss of cattle, much of valuable implements and other dead 
stock. Nell herself at the risk of her own life saved a 
horse of small value left forgotten in one of the stables. 
But amid all that bustling to and fro she did not fail to hear 
the doctor from Mansfield ride in. She knew well enough 
too when Tom White the constable came, though he came 
afoot. Of course she and Arthur crossed each other times 
and times again, but did not speak a word, exchange a 
glance. Only when nothing remained of the fire but the 
black ruin and the all-pervading pungency of the smoke, he 
bowed to her with a lift of the hat, as manners bade, and 
said : 

w I have to thank you, Miss Rideout, for your extremely 
useful exertions. ,, 

M There’s no more to be done,” she answered, w that I 
can do. And I hae news to tek home, so I’ll say good- 
night — or I think it’s good-morning.” 

For indeed over the ridge of the hill there was already a 
grey infraction of the dark. By the lifting of the face it 
might be perceived that it still rained, though but a rare 
drizzle. It was colder too, as though there were loss of 
warmth in the thinning of night’s covering. The smoke 
hung, a cloud beneath the clouds. The rooks croaked 
morose comments from the tops of the leafless oaks. The 
roosters, who had uttered their too vainglorious vaunts 
during the night, now moped voiceless under brandriff and 
blackened wall. 

Nell inquired not after her brother, nor asked for one 
look at him ; she left him in the hands of the doctor and 
the constable. She found the colt fastened up through 
Harris’s negligence by the front door without covering or 


THE WRONG HOUSE 


161 


shelter ; he was shivering and dispirited and seemed glad to 
see her. With a sudden weariness she was unable to mount 
him, and had to lead him across the heavy fields. Slowly, 
drearily, they plodded their way. On reaching the stable 
she punctiliously rubbed the colt down and saw to his com- 
fort ; then wearily, wearily mounted to her bedroom. Tish 
heard her heavy foot on the stairs, and called to her : 

u Why hae yer coomed back ? Is gret-granmam 
worse ? ” 

“No. Hannah’s wi’ her.” 

“ What hae yo been doing ? ” 

“ Helping hang Tant. If yo’ve got your clo’es on yo 
might goo and see if I’ve gien Tant’s colt his corn; I 
can’t just mind me.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 

Two days later the doctor, considering Tant’s great 
strength, thought him able to bear conveyance to the 
county jail at Southwell. Having seen him off and attended 
on Miss Skrene he went to visit another patient in the 
neighbourhood, Ben Foat of Fishpool, who was suffering 
from a leg broken just below the knee. Ben claimed to 
have got it by a fall, his account of which was so unjointed 
that it was probably a drunken fall ; not of itself an unlikely 
thing, though the doctor’s own opinion was that it had been 
done by some terrible blow. Fortunately however in this 
case a knowledge of the cause was not necessary for the 
cure of the injury. 

“ Keep that beer jug out of his reach,” said the doctor to 
Ben’s wife, “ and he’ll do very well.” 

Lois’s treatment was more difficult. She was slow 
in recovering from the shock; the pallor of fear did not 
pass from her face. She did not lie abed, but she did noth- 
ing when she was up. She did not speak of that dreadful 
night, but seemed to be always seeing it ; every now and 
then a shudder would take her, hold her a minute, then let 
her go. The doctor advised that she should have a change 
of scene. 

u And let it be,” said he, w among people who don’t know 
the cause of her illness, then you may rely on their discre- 
tion in not talking about it.” 

Arthur found her a comfortable residence at a farmhouse 
Retford way, took her thither and left her. While she was 
162 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


163 

there she was apparently neither happy nor unhappy, 
though she took but a languid interest in what was before 
her eyes. But at three weeks’ end the doctor rode over to 
see her, and his coming seemed to throw her mind back- 
ward and unsettle her. Next morning just after breakfast 
she said to the farmer : 

“ Mr. Stone, I’m very much obliged to you and Mrs. 
Stone for all the attentions you have shown me; I shall 
never forget your kindness.” 

“ Law, miss,” said the farmer, “ why do yer say so ? ” 

“ Because this is my last opportunity of saying so.” 

And so she would have it ; she refused to wait until her 
brother and her pony were sent for; there was nothing for 
it but that the farmer should leave the acres he wished to 
plough, take her up behind him on an ancient pillion, and 
ride with her the twenty miles to Blidworth. 

The motion and the fresh air seemed to revive her spirits. 
Along the way she talked with much of her customary 
lightness of this and that, and even made the heavy farmer 
talk. But when they had turned the ridge of the last hill 
and came into sight half-a-mile away of the aged oaks, of 
the house chimneys, of the black ruin of the farm-buildings, 
then she fell so silent that the farmer seemed a talker. 

Mary the cook opened the door for them, while Charley 
led the horse round to the stables. Lois stopped her sur- 
prise with a cool u How do you do, Mary ? ” 

“Middling, miss, thank yer. Sister Ann’s to be married 
a month as yisterday. I’m sorry to see yo hain’t got your 
colour back, miss.” 

“Colour, Mary? I never had any. Unless you call 
greeny-grey a colour ? ” 

“ I dunno, miss ; they’ve such different names i’ different 
plazen.” 

“ Well, up in Kent we call red and yellow and blue 


6 4 


FOREST FOLK 


colours, speaking of the complexion. This ” — with glove 
to cheek — “ is but a hue. If it’s a trifle more greeny than 
usual, put it down to my not having dined. What have 
you for dinner, Mary ? ” 

“ I don’t ’ardly know, miss. If I’d on’y been to’d 

There’s a tater-pie. And there’s co’d beef.” 

“ I’m hungrier than ever.” 

All that trifling was forced; she was shivering as with 
cold. She entered the room on the left hand of the hall. 
The window had been repaired, the disorder put right ; it 
seemed to promise that the affair was ended. 

“You’ve done very well, Mary,” she said with some real 
satisfaction. Her eyes fell on the book-shelves. “When 
the Decline and Fall has been properly sorted from Paradise 
Lost , and Miss Clarissa Harlowe made a little less intimate 

with Mr. Tom Jones, I think it will do very But 

why isn’t there a fire ? Perhaps you have put one into the 
east room ? ” 

“ No, miss. The mester’s at Nottingham.” 

“ Oh.” 

And she fell to shivering again ; she did not know why. 
She roused herself sufficiently however to give orders for 
the best possible entertainment of her escort in the warm 
kitchen, then went up-stairs to change her dress. 

When she came down again her thought was also to have 
gone into the kitchen, but as she passed the parlour door 
she heard the crackling of fresh-lighted firewood therein 
and entered. The dairy-maid was kneeling on the hearth 
encouraging the newborn fire with the bellows. 

“ When did your master go to Nottingham, Elizabeth ? ” 
she asked. 

“This mornin’, miss.” 

There were some starlings hopping on the grass in front 
of the window, and she moved towards it, chirruping to 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


165 


them. We are always going to meet outer trifles in the 
hope of getting at a little brief distance from what is in us. 

“ Pretty dickies ! Swee — eet ! Swee — eet ! Did your 
master say when he should return ? ” 

“ Not while the ’sizes are ower, miss, I should think.” 

The next moment she saw a dark brown stain on the 
carpet in the best of the light. She knew the cause of it. 
She saw Tant fall again, and again she fell. 

When she came to herself with a long drawn “ Ah ! n 
her face was wet with water, and the two maids were bend- 
ing over her ejaculating oh’s. 

“ What’s the matter ? Am I ill ? ” she asked, in tem- 
porary oblivion of the cause. 

The maids gave the answer in duetto. 

“Yo’ll soon be better, miss.” 

w Poor thing ! ” 

u It’s very nat’ral.” 

“ How d’yer feel now ? ” 

“ Could yer sit up a bit, d’yer think ? ” 

She could and did. But as she sat on the floor the dark 
brown patch was just under her eyes. The maids saw it 
also. 

“ Shall I make a fire i’ th’ east room, miss ? ” said 
Mary. 

“ Well, he’ll be hung for ’t, that’s one comfort,” said 
Elizabeth. 

M How can yer ! ” said Mary. 

“Well, he will. E’erybody says so; Tom White says 
so,” insisted Elizabeth, obtuse to Mary’s warning finger. 

Lois was like to faint again at the mere thought of a 
hanging so nearly connected with her carpet. She but just 
gasped out : 

“ Who will be hung ? ” 

“Tant Rideout, miss. There’s nobody else took.” 


i66 


FOREST FOLK 


The name revived her more than the most pungent thrust 
of anything that can be smelt. She stood up. 
u He ? It can’t be ! Why ? ” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Do yer ask, miss ? ” 

“ For house-breakin’.” 
w And stack-firin’.” 
u And machine-smashin’.” 

“ And ” 

“ And ” 

u And murder all but.” 

Lois’s clear voice cut their volubility in two. 
w No ! for the prevention of murder ! He saved my 
life.” 

They thought she was out of her mind. 

“ Poor thing ! ” 
u Who iver heerd the like ? ” 
u Oh, I’ve been ill too long ! ” 

“ Yo’ll be better by ’n bye, miss,” said Mary. 

“Yo’ll feel more sattled like when he’s out the road, 
miss,” said Elizabeth. “I can’t sleep mysen for dreamin’ 
on’t. The men talk o’ noat else but the gallers now ; I 
keep sayin’, c Do talk o’ summat else,’ but it’s no use. I 
remember there was a murder at Farnsfield when I were 
ten year oad. The talk there was ! ” 

You would not have thought Lois’s cheeks could be 
paler, her voice fainter, but they were. 
u When is it to be ? ” 

“ The hanging, miss ? ” 

Her head drooped ; it might be a sign, it might be a 
mere slackening of the central control. 

“ That een’t fixed yet, miss, I should say, but the trial’s 
to-morrer.” 

u To-morrow ? Oh how cruel silence is ! ” 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 167 

True; crueller than any activity, because so timid, so 
selfish. 

“ I must sit down.” 

They got her to a chair. The nearness of the danger 
seemed to crowd upon her, oppress her, almost suffocate 
her. The maids added something to her distress, assailing 
her, back and front, with pity and astonishment. But 
these she could waft away. 

“ I’m better now, thank you. I’m quite well. Eliza- 
beth, you may take away your coal-scuttle. Mary, see if 
Mr. Stone wants any more pie.” 

She stood up for half-a-minute to prove that her legs 
were equal to the weight of her body, her brain to the 
pressure of her thoughts ; but she sank again on her chair 
as soon as the maids’ backs were turned. 

It was so soon ! She had done wrong to be ill. What 
should she do ? 

The figure of Tant came before her, as he stood over 
her brother in the snow, as he issued drunk from the Will 
Scarlett, as he stumbled in through the broken window. 
The three combined in one, not blurred as by the super- 
position of one picture over another, but with the edged 
precision of. a triple terror. She shrank from such silent 
relation with him as a common accident gave, as her own 
thoughts admitted ; she had an icy dread of keeping com- 
pany with him on men’s tongues. 

Then came a thought filming over the sharp precision 
of her idea of him. She was convinced that she owed her 
life to him, that somehow for some reason that gallant 
struggle — it was acted before her again in every detail — 
had been for her. It obscured the outline of the picture, 
augmented the mystery, hardly lessened the terror. 

“ I think the fire’ll do now, miss.” 

It was Elizabeth who looked in. 


i68 


FOREST FOLK 


“Yes, Elizabeth, nicely, thank you. You may go.” 

Why hadn’t he spoken ? Or more likely he had spoken. 
Of course he had ; it would be ridiculous to think other- 
wise. And had been disbelieved ? Of course he would 
be disbelieved. Who would believe who had not seen ? 

Mary brought her in some dinner. To stay the maid’s 
solicitations she went to the table and touched knife and 
fork, though the sight of food made her stomach revolt. 
But as soon as the cook went out of the room the plate 
and its contents went out of her thoughts ; which receded 
from the present with a withdrawal like that of spent 
waves ; until presently they were entirely lost in those five 
weeks of her illness, a time of indifference, indolence, 
oblivion, barely concluded, already dim to her. She was 
still in the midst of it when Mary came in to see if she 
wanted anything. To the good-natured maid’s remon- 
strances she answered : 

4t I can’t help it ; I’m not so hungry as I was, Mary.” 

“After a twenty-mile ride, miss? It een’t right; it 
een’t nat’ral.” 

“ I’d a very good breakfast.” 

u Breakfast ! Yo’d ought to ha’ clean forgot it two hour 
ago, miss. There niver was the breakfast as was worth 
remembering at dinner-time.” 

To escape further solicitation Lois said, M I think I 
could drink a cup of tea.” 

While the cook prepared it she herself was harassed by 
the questionings of her practical inexperience. What 
could she do ? What ought she to do ? Whom should 
she go to? If her brother were but there to advise her! 
And yet she felt somehow an unowned unplaceable relief 
in his absence. The only thing clear to her was that she 
must act quickly ; the very clearness of which only made 
the disenabling flutter of her thoughts the greater. She 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


169 

thought of consulting General Deene, the leading magis- 
trate in the neighbourhood. But he lived between three 
and four miles off and would himself probably be absent at 
the assizes. The sun was already getting low, and time 
pressed. In her mind she ran through the different persons 
in the neighbourhood with whom she had acquired some 
slim acquaintance, but in the face of none of them did she 
see promise of aid or counsel. 

Mary came in with the cup of tea and a slice or two of 
toast. 

“Toast’s no stay,” she said, “but if a body feels 
tisicky, she moot eat what she can eat.” 

To please Mary she fretted the toast into crumbs be- 
tween her dainty fingers, to please herself she sipped the 
tea. Before she had finished it she got up and went slowly 
to the window, the smaller window facing west ; through 
which shone the last rays of the setting sun blazing white 
in a clear sky ; through which also were visible the chim- 
neys of the Low Farm at the foot of the hill. As she 
stood there what had been a suggestion became a pur- 
pose. She must go down to Low Farm. She left her tea 
unfinished. It is impossible to give ordinary nerves any 
idea of the courage with which she reached down cloak 
and hat and opened the front door. She did not hesitate, 
she durst not. Once resolved she did it at once ; although 
it was as if she, defenceless herbivorous thing that she was, 
were descending into the bone-strewn cave of one of the 
larger carnivora of legendary generosity, indisputable fe- 
rocity. 

Still she tripped along, she almost ran, over the cloddy 
fields, striving not to argue either for or against the prob- 
ability of Tant’s being at home, and yet all the while teas- 
ing herself with guesses at the bailability of arson and 
burglary. She almost forgot to be afraid of a herd of 


FOREST FOLK 


170 

cows, though she wasn’t sure that one of them wasn’t a 
bull. 

Nell was on a stack behind the house cutting hay. She 
saw Lois coming down the hill when she was yet a long 
way off. She turned her back and while she worked the 
knife in and out wondered, without any interest in her 
wonder, who it was and why she came. All at once with- 
out further looking she believed that it was Miss Skrene, and 
that she came about Tant. And she thought to herself : 

w If she’s wearing her red cloak it’s a bad sign, if she’s 
wearing her blue un it’s a good sign.” 

She looked round, the white gleam of the dying sun was 
on Lois ; she wore the blue. Nell accepted the omen, and 
immediately was wroth with herself for accepting it. She 
turned again to her work and looked no more. But yet she 
was coming from the stackyard with the hay-knife still in 
her hand, as Tish opened the door to the girl’s timid 
knock. There was black trouble on the woman’s face. 
Through the door Lois could see the grandmother seated 
by the fire, and her wheel was still. 

“ Who are yo ? ” she said. 

“ I am Lois Skrene.” 

“ His sister!” The outward turn of her thumb indi- 
cated the High Farm and its tenant. u What does the 
sister of Mr. Skrene want here ? ” 

“ Be’t a good tale or a bad un,” said Nell from behind, 
“the door-step’s none the place to tell it.” 

Tish glowered over Lois’s head at Nell. 

“ Nell Rideout,” she said, u when I oppen the door I 
ho’d the sneck on’t. 

In the woman’s black face Lois saw another obstacle 
where she had hoped for furtherance. 

“ I thought you’d help me,” she said and clasped her 
hands. u Oh I want help badly ! ” 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


171 

She turned away and saw Nell’s less repellent face be- 
hind. 

“ Oh, Miss Rideout ! ” she cried, “ won’t you ? ” 
u I will,” said Nell, “ if it’s my last deed.” 

At the kindness of the speech Lois burst into tears and 
seized Nell’s hand and said : 

“ We must be quick ! They are going to Oh, it’s 

cruel! To-morrow! And he never did! Your brother 
is not guilty.” 

u Can yer prove your words ? ” said Tish. 

“ I can, I can ! ” 

“ Thank God ! ” said Nell. 

w How comes it,” said Tish still unwon, M if yo can 
prove so much that yo hain’t proved it afore ? ” 

M I didn’t know ; I’ve been away ; I’ve been ill.” 
u I’ll ? What a poor cratur yo moot be to be ill when 
yo’re so badly wanted ! But yo stand, ma’am ; please to 
walk in.” 

Nell led her in. 

“ Set her a chair,” said Tish. w Not so nigh’and the 
fire. Can’t yo see she’s faint ? ” 

Nell placed her in a chair set a little back from the fire, 
and as she did so whispered : 

u Ne’er mind Tish ; tek no offence ; when we’re put 
out we moot hae a slap at somebody. But tell ’s now, tell 
’s quick ! ” 

u What is’t ? ” croaked the grandame bending forwards. 
u More bad news ? ” 

u Nay, granmam, the contrairy o’ that. But tell ’s 
quick ! ” 

“ Ay, tell ’s quick ! ” hoarsely echoed the grandame, and 
her blind eyes seemed to watch for the words. 

Nell on one knee beside Lois fixed her seeing eyes upon 
her. Tish stood behind them all as upright as a drum- 


l l 2 


FOREST FOLK 


major. Lois was timid of beginning ; she looked from face 
to face ; she changed from one paleness to another. 

“ Pray tell me first,” she said, “ how he is. I’ve heard 
nothing. I saw him fall.” 

And she shuddered. 

u He’s as well,” said Tish, w as a body can be wi’ a 
helter tightening iv’ry day about his neck.” 

Again she shuddered. 

u He hasn’t been thanked ! That distresses me. How 
can I thank him ? Shall I thank you for him ? ” 

Tish had doubts of her sanity ; the obscure hope, barely 
kindled, was puffed out by a contrary wind ; she answered 
bitterly : 

“What thanks d’yer speak on, wench? Thanks fora 
bussen winder-frame, a burnt-out barn and a woman fritted 
out’n her wits ? ” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” 

“ I know a many things ; I don’t know that.” 

“ Hasn’t he said ? ” 

“ He hain’t oppened his mouth, so fur’s we know, except 
to ax how yo were gooin’ on.” 

“ He left it to me ! ” 

“Tell us; do!” cried Nell with her eyes fastened on 
her. 

“ He saved my life.” 

The sisters cried out. 

“ Hush ! ” said the old woman upright in her chair. 
“ Let her say on. Nubbudy speak but me an’ her.” 

“ Oh, I am sorry ! I have done wrong ! I never 
thought but that it was known, and speaking of it seemed 
to me as bad as seeing it again.” 

“ Speak up,” said the old woman commandingly. “ It’s 
as if summat was hinged up atween your mouth an’ my 
ears.” 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


*73 


She gave a full and close narration of what had happened 
on that dreadful night, to the moment when her recollec- 
tion was suddenly cut off. As she told her tale Nell ever 
kept her eyes upon her, though she had every now and 
then to wipe the mists from them. Tish still stood be- 
hind, but a little less stiffly. The old woman sat upright 
motionless and let the tears drip from her blind face into 
her lap, in a joy that was as hard to look on as sorrow. 

u Bless yer, ma child,” she said at the end of it in broken 
tones, u bless yer ! Yo’ve a voice as sounds like comfort 
out’n a good book.” 

“ Gie granmam my handkerchief,” said Tish to Nell ; 
u yourn’s as wet as a dish-clout.” 

Her own was not quite dry, but so she brazened it out. 

u And now,” said Lois, w I want you to tell me what to 
do. I have only just returned home after a three weeks’ 
absence, and I find my brother away.” 

u He’s gone to Nottingham betimes,” said Tish. 

u I’m very ignorant. My silence has been very cruel. 
I want you to tell me how I can put a stop to this dreadful 
injustice.” 

“Yo moot goo to Nottingham too,” said Tish, “ and 
say theer what yo’ve said here ; say in a box what yo’ve 
said in a chair. Yo’re a little scaddle thing, but yo 
mootn’t let nubbudy daunt yer ; brother nor nubbudy.” 

“ My brother,” said Lois with some spirit, “ is not the 
man to attempt that. He wouldn’t willingly do anybody a 
wrong.” 

“ That’s well ; nubbudy’ll force him ; it’s a free country 
—so fur.” 

“Tish ! ” said Nell hotly, u Miss Skrene’s coomed here 
to do uz a kindness, not to hear her brother miscalled.” 

“ Who’s miscalling him ? Unless yo call mentioning 
him miscalling him ? ” 


x 74 


FOREST FOLK 


It had become dark in the house as they talked, and Lois 
was the more afraid of Tish’s voice ; for the flicker of the 
firelight unsteadied the assurance of Nell’s upturned face 
and distorted the blind beldame’s immobility. She rose to 
take her leave. 

“ But how shall yer get to Nottingham ? ” said Nell. 

u How shall I ? ” said Lois. u I hadn’t thought of 
that.” 

u Can yer ride ? ” said Tish. 

“ Ay,” answered Nell, u she has a nice well-behaved 
well-brucken little pony; an iron-grey wi’ black points.” 

u Then yo may ride wi’ uz if yo like. But yo mun get 
out o’ bed early ; we shall start at six o’clock time. Don’t 
be late. And manage so yo’re not ill.” 

w Thank you, I will come ; you may rely upon me. 
And now I must go.” 

“ Ay,” said Nell, “yo’re fain to be gooing. We can’t 
offer yer any sort o’ suitable thanks, but if we knowed how 
we’d welcome yer as if yo was an angel from Heaven ; the 
angel that appeared unto Mary and said, c Fear not.’ Tish 
as much as any on ’s, for all her wry words. But we’re a 
rough and humble sort o’ folk, and we’re not used to re- 
ceiving angels except now and again in dreams like.” 

“Yo nedn’t gie’s away to that extent,” said Tish. 
“ One o’ the Rideouts was once alderman o’ Retford. But 
sit again, Miss Skrene, unless yo moot goo, and I’ll light a 
candle.” 

“ Yes, she moot goo,” said Nell. “ But afore yo goo, I 
suld like to thank yer for one thing mysen. Yo’ve made a 
Christian on me again.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ I’m a witness on the tother side, like your brother, 
Miss Skrene — again my brother. I’ve been sub-peonied, 
they call it. Cruel, een’t it ? I went to a lawyer at Not- 


LOIS TAKES ACTION 


l 7S 


tingham to ax if I couldn’t get out on’t, and for six-and- 
eightpence I larnt that it could on’y be by disbelieving the 
Bible and refusing the oath by’t. Oh, many a time Pve 
laid awake hafe the night trying to mind me o’ what I’d 
heerd Shoemekker Morrish say again the miracles ! ” 

u Yo wanted skelping,” said Tish. 

“ But I couldn’t remember oat except downraight blether, 
and I’ve cried because I couldn’t, it seemed so hard to hae 
to witness again a brother and yo’ve nubbut one. But 
now, God bless yer, I shall say c Our Father’ to-night and 
not miss a word or a tho’t, and I shall sleep all night, and 
trust in Him for the morrer.” 

Tish was the last to shake hands with her, and her grip 
about the slender fingers was like a strong man’s. 

M I moan’t speak,” she said, “ for yo’re stanning, and 
’twould be long.” 

Lois was afraid of her; still she looked up and by the 
just lighted candle saw the fierceness of the grey eyes filmed 
over with a glimmering moisture. 

w Put your hood on,” said Tish to Nell, “ and see her 
by the cows i’ th’ Old Ley.” 

u Thank you,” said Lois heartily. 

She and Nell went. The sky was still white, but on 
the ground there was no difference between grey and green. 

Said Tish to her grandmother: “There was a furren 
lady once at Lindhurst — do yo remember ? — and she was 
afeared o’ cows.” 

c< Tell me what she looks like,” said the old woman. 

u She’s little but not fow, and her eyes are dark but not 
dishonest.” 

u She’s got kind hands and a sweet voice,” said the old 
woman. 

u I’m main glad I tho’t o’ them cows,” said Tish. 


CHAPTER XV 


GALLOWS HILL 

It was a cold raw morning early in December when 
Nell and Lois set out together, the one to give evidence for 
King, the other for Rideout. There seemed to be but three 
gradations of obscurity in the sombre landscape ; the star- 
less sky, the sandy track before them, the land on either 
side of it, field and moor, hill and valley, all of a dim uni- 
formity. No sooner had Tish mounted to saddle with the 
help of a cricket fetched from the house than she descended 
again. It appeared that she had been simultaneously struck 
with the rawness of the outside air and the slender fragility 
of Lois’s make. She lifted Lois off her pony with her own 
strong arms, and so carried her into the house as one might 
a doll. She sent Nell up-stairs for one of her skirts, if not 
her best her second-best, threw it over the girl’s head and 
pinned it voluminously round her slim waist. If Lois 
made any sort of remonstrance she did not hear or heed it. 

“ Theer ! ” she said, surveying with more satisfaction the 
diminutive figure muffled out of all shape. “It warn’t 
your mother’s hand, anybody can see that, as dressed yer 
for a twelve-mile ride i’ them foldidols. And it warn’t a 
mother’s deed, she’d say if she were here, to fetch yer out 
o’ your warm bed this time o’ day. It’s truth we might ha’ 
started an hour later and no harm gotten, no good lost. 
But it’s better as ’tis for yo and everybody. I suld very 
like ha’ been hafe cranky thinking m’appen he’d be hung 
afore we could get theer to stop it. ‘ The gret boafin ! ’ 

176 


GALLOWS HILL 


l 77 


yo’re saying to yoursen. No, child, I’m no fool, accordin’ 
to the run o’ craturs i’ this part o’ the world ; but yo’ll larn 
this wi’ living, by an’ by : when the man’s away the 
woman’s nubbut hafe at home.” 

The last sentence confidentially, out of Nell’s hearing, as 
she was carrying the girl back to her saddle. 

Nell was on the useful cob which she rode to market, but 
for her sister there was no better mount than one of the 
cart-horses. Tish, who was also an excellent horsewoman, 
fumed at the sluggishness of her steed. 

u I might as well be riding a load o’ tunnips,” she 
growled ; “ I suldn’t loase oat in action nor yet i’ mettle.” 

“Yo may change with me if yo like,” said Nell. 

“ Yo talk like a tailor. Wheer’d my seventeen stun be 
atop o’ that middling-sized rot ? I’d as lieve be under it as 
on it.” 

And so the horse grievance usefully diverted her mind 
from the larger trouble they were riding towards. Which 
enforces reflection upon the value of the inconvenient as a 
buffer to the inconsolable. If life were a plain-spun mix- 
ture of pleasurable days seldom blotted but blackly, we 
should faint, we should die under the first unmitigated 
shock. But we are early and mercifully broken in to sor- 
row, as the colt is to labour with the play-trouble of the 
longe. 

It was a dreary morning, as I have said ; there seemed 
to be neither light nor shadow ; there was no wind ; there 
seemed to be nothing alive but themselves and the animals 
they rode. When Tish was not grumbling at her horse 
they were silent. And so after a long colourless ride they 
reached the borough boundaries. Tish at last had done 
grumbling. To right and left of them was rough gorse- 
clad ground, broken into hump and hollow, here and there 
fashioned by the weather and men’s hands into immemorial 


1 7 8 


FOREST FOLK 


caves. Along the brow of the slope in front of them were 
a dozen wind-mills all in a row ; but their sails were 
motionless. The sun had risen, but not shown himself. 
When they reached the top of the hill the town lay in sight 
below; or would have done but for the vaporous screen 
which overhung it, less the gift of the chimneys than of the 
vapour-exhaling meadows and river beyond. Only the 
castle and the tower of St. Mary’s rose above it. 

Nell pushed as near as she could to Lois and leaning 
towards her said in a low voice, u Does what yo telled uz 
yesterday ho’d to-day ? ” 

w Most certainly,” said Lois. 
u He saved your life ? ” 
u Yes.” 

“I’ve been doubting all along the road. Trouble meks 
folk disbelievers of oat but trouble. Sometimes I wunnered 
if what yo said were a dream, and sometimes if these three 
hosses and uz three * women a-top on ’em were a dream. 
But when we corned to this hill I felt the pain o’ being 
awake. Do yer know the name on’t ? ” 

“No. What is it ? ” 
w No, of course yo wouldn’t.” 

Nell would have left it so ; but Tish who had overheard 
said : 

“It’s no secret; they call it Gallers Hill.” 

Lois drank a cup of tea, the sisters a pot of ale each at 
the inn where they put their horses up ; then they went to 
see the attorney for the defence, a little unfresh up-all-night 
sort of man with a larger reputation for craft and drollery 
than for sobriety or scruple. He took notes of Lois’s evi- 
dence, and foretold with much glee that it would upset 
Smetham K.C.’s temper. 

“ Not that it takes much to do that. It’s a case of what 
we used at Dame Agnes Mellers’s to call unstable equilib- 


GALLOWS HILL 


179 

rium when it’s at its best. I understand, young lady, that 
your brother don’t know you’re in Nottingham ? ” 

“No,” said Lois. 

“We suld ha’ liked her,” said Nell, “to ha’ seed him 
afore coming here — ’twould on’y ha’ bin straightforrard — 
but she don’t know wheer he is nor wheer he’s like to be.” 

“We’re going to find him,” said Lois, “as soon as you 
dismiss us.” 

The lawyer straightway determined that they should not 
find him in time to spoil his little surprise. 

“ Certainly, miss,” he said, “ you couldn’t do better. 
But tempus fugit ; I must have your evidence fair copied and 
read over to you before you go. This is what I suggest, 
ladies : I’ll send Thompson to look Mr. Skrene up and let 
him know Miss Skrene’s here. He’s the youngest and the 
smartest of my clerks, and he’ll smell him out in ten min- 
utes ; in ten minutes certain. Meanwhile you, ladies, can 
sit by my fire and warm your toes until the copying’s com- 
pleted.” 

“ How long will that tek ? ” asked Tish. 

“Oh, not long. If you want refreshments, send Tom 
to the Crown and Cushion opposite. I can give my per- 
sonal recommendation to both their eatables and drinkables. 
Don’t suffer from cold, ladies ; the coal-scuttle and the 
poker are at your discretion.” 

He popped out of the room in middle of “ discretion.” 
The fair-copy was long in preparation ; but it was very 
nicely written. Thompson returned just as the women 
were on the point of giving him up and leaving the office. 
In spite of his junior smartness he had been unsuccessful in 
finding Mr. Skrene. 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if he’s at the Court after all, miss,” 
he said. 

And so he was. They perceived him in the lobby as 


i8o 


FOREST FOLK 


soon as they entered, in the midst of a moving throng 
of the wigged and unwigged, lawyers and clients, loungers 
and witnesses, some quite at home, others obviously at sea. 
Naturally he saw Nell and her tall sister first ; he saluted 
them with a cold wordless gesture and turned away. He 
did not see Lois until she touched his elbow from behind. 
His surprise was great and loud ; her reply brief and quiet. 

W I thought I ought to give evidence, Arthur. I am 
quite well enough.” 

Arthur scanned her pale agitated face. 
u I do not think so.” 

u I have been well enough to resolve to give evidence, to 
live through last night, to travel here.” 

“ I see that you’ve survived, Lois. But it’s so unneces- 
sary ! The doctor is prepared to certify that you’re phys- 
ically unfit to give evidence.” 

“ No, Arthur; I’m unfit not to give evidence. It’s a 
matter that can’t be decided by looking at one’s tongue.” 

w But the lawyers say that their case is perfect without 
your testimony, that they really don’t need to take it.” 

u I can’t dispute with lawyers, Arthur ; I know I need 
to offer it. I can’t say more here.” 

It was true ; that loud bustling hall was no place for such 
communications as she had to make. 
u How did you come ? ” he said. 

“ Mrs. Gillott and Miss Rideout kindly permitted me to 
travel with them.” 

Arthur was greatly dissatisfied. 

“You came in strange company, Loie ! ” 
u They were good enough not to allow me to feel the 
strangeness.” 

u Strange, I mean, under the circumstances. But I must 
tell the lawyers. I don’t know how they will take your 
intrusion just at the last minute, while the trial is going on.” 


GALLOWS HILL 


181 


u Is he being tried, Arthur ? Now ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Her head went round ; she was affected as bystanders 
are who witness a human life snatched miraculously from 
under a coach’s wheels; she felt the waft of death on her 
face. He had to support her. It got about that a lady 
had been taken ill. Bystanders crowded round. He was 
permitted to lead her apart into a quiet room ; Nell Rideout 
reappearing supported her on the other side. A glass of 
water was fetched. Presently she recovered sight and hear- 
ing ; just as Arthur Skrene’s name was noisily echoed along 
the corridors, summoning him to the witness-box. 

“Yo mun leave her wi’ uz,” said Nell. “ We’ll tend 
her as if our lives depended on’t.” 

And somewhat unsatisfactory though it appeared to him, 
so it had to be. 


CHAPTER XVI 


KING V. RIDEOUT 

Tant’s trial had already made considerable progress. 
Counsel had opened ; the first witnesses for the prosecution, 
the farm servants, had proved the firing of the stackyard 
and outbuildings, the assault upon the house, their cour- 
ageous encounter of the rioters and the shooting of Tant. 
At the mention of Miss Skrene the judge wanted to know 
whether she was not to be called as a witness ; he had ob- 
served that her evidence did not figure in the depositions. 
The counsel for the prosecution said no. The judge said 
that it was unsatisfactory. The counsel replied that the 
lady was in a delicate condition, in fac^ very ill indeed, as 
the result of the shock and fright, and quite unable to ap- 
pear, quite unable to bear questioning on the subject. 

u Have you a medical certificate ? ” said the counsel for 
the defence, stifling a yawn. 

w Her medical attendant will be called. We feel per- 
fectly capable of proving our case without the poor lady’s 
attendance.” 

The judge still thought it most unsatisfactory. 

“ So do I, m’ lud, with y’ ludship’s permission,” said the 
prisoner’s counsel as he negligently examined his finger- 
nails. “ It seems to me the prosecution is trying to make 
no case appear a bad one by leaving out the only witness 
they’ve got.” 

There was a laugh ; the jury stirred on their seats and 
began to fancy the wagoner’s evidence not so conclusive as 
it had appeared. The counsel for the prosecution, Smetham 

182 


KING V. RIDEOUT 


183 


K.C. by name, was a stumpy little man with restless little 
black eyes and a beaky nose. He was scrupulously attired 
and made an emphasis of everything, the ages of the wit- 
nesses, how they spelt or didn’t spell their name — every- 
thing. Mr. Serjeant Manning, who appeared for the 
prisoner with his wig awry, looked a tall man even as he 
lolled forwards over the table or backwards against the 
panneling. How tall he would have appeared had he 
stretched himself to his full possibility no man knew, for 
he never did ; he was always lolling against something or 
somebody. A man stupendously indolent, his most by-the- 
way utterances had weight with the court, for it was felt 
by the most casual observer that he would not have said 
much even to save his own neck. He did, it is true, ask 
Harris a few questions after the King’s Counsel had done 
with him, but his thoughts seemed to be as loosely attached 
as the half-crowns and keys which he was passing through 
his big hands in his big pockets. 

“Was Miss Skrene armed ? ” 
w No, sir.” 

“ How long was it after you heard the smash before you 
entered the room ? ” 
u Can’t say, sir.” 

“ T’oblige me.” 

M M’appen foive minutes.” 

“ M’appen ten ? ” 
u M’appen.” 
u M’appen fifteen ? ” 

“ M’appen ; I can’t exackly say.” 

“ M’appen sixteen ? ” 

“ No, not sixteen.” 

“ Positive ? ” 
w As sure as sure.” 

“ Then we’ll say fifteen.” 


184 


FOREST FOLK 


Smetham K.C. jumped up. 

u He didn’t say it was fifteen ; he said it wasn’t sixteen.” 

w Fifteen isn’t sixteen, subject t’ his ludship’s c’rrection. 
Well” — he yawned tremendously and seemed dreadfully 
bored — “ let’s see — er — how many of the rioters were in 
the room when you first saw them ? ” 

“ On’y Tant, sir, properly in. The tothers was at the 
winder.” 

“ He was leading them in ? ” 

“ Yis, sir.” 

“ Back first ? ” 

His “ Yis, sir,” was fairly out before the laughter of the 
court. The counsel took a pinch of snuff 7 , but as if half 
in a mind not to oblige his nose at the expense of his finger 
and thumb. 

“Well — oh — er — how far was the prisoner within the 
room when you saw him ? ” 

“ M’appen two or three yards.” 

“ Four, m’appen ? ” 

“ No, sir, not fower.” 

“This Tant is a remarkably inactive man, isn’t he? 
Like myself f’r instance.” 

And the counsel yawned illustratively. 

“Not he, sir; he can run like a scoperell, can Tant ; 
nubbudy can run wee ’m at Blid’orth.” 

“ But he takes fifteen minutes to go two or three yards. 
Now I remember having gone as fast as that myself.” Ap- 
pearing to think the court would hardly accept the bare 
assertion he condescended to a detail carelessly jerked in : 
“ Highwayman pace-making, m’lud.” 

But the King’s Counsel was furious. 

“ I object to words being put into the witness’s mouth. 
He didn’t say it was fifteen minutes.” 

“ M’ lud,” said the Serjeant, “ unless I’ve assurance of 


KING V. RIDEOUT 185 

y’ ludship’s protection against m’ learned brother’s violence, 
I daren’t proceed.” 

After the court had enjoyed that he added : “ I acknowl- 
edge, m’ lud, coming to the rescue of m’ learned brother’s 
desperate case, that the prisoner appears to have been ad- 
vancing backwards. Well — er — oh — I think that’s — there 
had been nobody but that young lady there to offer re- 
sistance ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

u She was armed with a candlestick ? ” 

“ Yis, sir.” 

“ Loaded with the usual candle ? ” 
u Yis, sir.” 

“ Tallow ? ” 

“ Yis, sir.” 

“ Rush or cotton wick ? ” 
u Cotton, sir.” 

The counsel for the prosecution got Selby to limit the 
interval from the fall of the window to Harris’s entrance 
between a maximum of three minutes and a minimum of 
one ; otherwise his evidence only differed from the first 
witness’s in lessening the distance at which he and Wells 
gave the wagoner encouragement from a throw to a civil 
hand’s reach. The Serjeant merely asked him solemnly to 
reswear, if he could, that it was Harris and not Miss Skrene 
who shot the prisoner. Which he did after some puzzle- 
headed, court-amusing hesitation. 

“ But she carried a candlestick ? ” 

M Yis, sir, she did.” 

And the Serjeant had an air of still doubting whether it 
were not Miss Skrene. 

After Wells had added his colourless confirmations 
Arthur Skrene detailed the coming of Nell, his ride and 
summoning of his comrades, his dispersal of the rioters at 


i86 


FOREST FOLK 


Rainworth, his seeing the warning fire, his return, the con- 
dition of the prisoner and his sister. 

“ And your sister has been very very ill ever since, I 
believe ? ” 

“ She has.” 

44 And is still much too unwell to appear as a wit- 
ness ? ” 

44 I think so, though to my great surprise she has followed 
me to Nottingham and is desirous of appearing.” 

The prisoner’s attitude changed from that of hearing to 
listening. 

u I wish we’d been informed earlier of her desire,” said 
the King’s Counsel. 

u What a lady’s man my brother is ! ” lazily ejaculated 
the Serjeant. 

44 Where is she ? ” 

w In the precincts of the court.” 

44 M’ lud, I propose calling her.” 

44 It’s irregular, m’ lud,” said the Serjeant ; 41 but I per- 
ceive the learned counsel’s armed to the — er — tongue ; so 
— er — at the menace of his eloquence ” 

And he offered no further objection to his chief witness 
being thus appropriated ; he was indolently extended over 
half the table; his one care in the world, and that an un- 
exciting one, seemed to be the balancing of his uninked 
quill on his big lazy forefinger. He asked the witness 
but one question : 

“You never had any personal quarrel with the prisoner, 
I believe, nor he with you ? ” 

w We have had a quarrel.” 

There seemed to be some error in his instructions and 
he did not pursue the cross-examination. His learned 
brother however reexamined upon it, and received for an- 
swer that it began about a right of way. 


KING V. RIDEOUT 187 

u A very pretty subject too for a quarrel,” his lordship 
condescended to say. 

w M’ lud, with y’ ludship’s permission,” said the Serjeant, 
flicking half-heartedly at a fly on his sleeve, u it’s a quarrel 
I can’t understand ; I can’t understand anybody fighting to 
go anywhere — except perhaps to bed.” 

u May I be permitted to say, my lord,” said Arthur, 
44 with regard to that quarrel, that I don’t think the prisoner 
has any reason to be ashamed ; in fact he had the better of 
me throughout. Nor do I believe it left any rancour in 
his mind.” 

44 It was a fair faight,” said the prisoner, lifting his head. 

Nell came next, and the little King’s Counsel examined 
her as a hostile witness with a good deal of sharpness, 
which on the whole she bore with a decent self-restraint. 
Why had she gone to Mr. Skrene’s house that night ? 
How did she know an attack was meditated upon frames 
at Rainworth ? So bit by bit he piggled out the story of 
her seeing so many passers that she had become suspicious. 

44 If it’s considered so suspicious a thing to be out at 
eleven o’clock at night at Blidworth, how is it you were 
up and out, young woman ? Are we to include you in the 
suspicion ? ” 

u As yo please. My gret-gran’mother is ill and I was 
up nursing her.” 

She told how she went forth, saw more night-wanderers, 
followed them and so forth until they were fully on the 
road to Rainworth. 

u And you tracked these desperate men so many miles, at 
midnight, in such weather, at the mere prompting of curi- 
osity ? Do you expect me to believe that ? ” 

Nell drew herself to her height and answered : 

44 I’d as lief yo didn’t.” 

“ That is insolence, mistress.” 


88 


FOREST FOLK 


u It’s in a court o’ justice I’ve larnt it.” 
w You must not use such language,” said the judge 
severely. “You must not speak but to answer the learned 
counsel’s questions.” 

She was not abashed, neither was she impudent. 
u My lord, if anybody calls me insolent I tek that to be 
a question.” 

w Attend to me, madam,” said the lawyer. u I may dis- 
please you worse yet. Why of all the people in Blidworth 
did you fly to Mr. Skrene with your news? Was he the 
nearest ? ” 

“ No.” 

u Are you very intimate ? ” 

u I don’t know him scarcely at all ; he knows me still 
l<?ss.” 

“ Then why ? ” 

w Because I wanted Sam Derry’s frames saving, and I 
knew he durst do ’t.” 

u When had you last seen your brother ? ” 
w I saw him for sartain at one o’clock i’ th’ afternoon, 
afore he went to the badger-baiting.” 

u What do you mean by 1 for sartain ’ ? ” 

U I may ha’ seed him later; I can’t swear.” 

“ When?” 

Only the lowering of her voice showed the trouble it 
was to her to answer. 

“ About eleven o’clock time.” 

“ The same time as you saw the others ? ” 

“ Ay.” 

u Going the same way ? ” 

“ Ay. But ’twere dark, and there are other tall men be- 
sides him. Whoever ’twere he was reeling drunk and two 
men were dading him.” 

u What do you mean by dading ? ” 


KING V. RIDEOUT 


189 


u Leading and supporting.” 
w Then say leading and supporting.” 

“ Did yo mother my tongue ? Did yo larn it to talk ? ” 
The judge interposed with the proper reproof. 
u But it’s hard, my lord, as he should do all the hammer- 
gagging ; I wear a gown too.” 

“I respect yours,” said the judge; “I shall require you 
to respect the learned gentleman’s.” 

M My lord, if I mun I will.” 

The check she put upon herself was immediately mani- 
fest in her bearing, which was thenceforth more composed 
and greatly more dignified. Through her curbed lips the 
words came deliberately ; only to her eyes she once and 
perhaps twice allowed their freedom. The first time was 
when the counsel after other inquiries which elicited noth- 
ing of importance said : 

“ Well, we will return to the time when Mr. Skrene rode 
off in the direction of Rainworth. What did you next do 
after you had seen him out of the way ? ” 

Then her eyes blazed, and her countenance seemed to 
catch fire from her eyes ; it ran up to the roots of her hair. 
She leant forward until she hung over the heads of the 
budding barristers seated beneath and over the paper-strewn 
table. The court expected an* outburst, but none came. 
u Mr. Skrene thinks so and why suldn’t he ? ” was in her 
thoughts ; and lo ! their eyes met, Mr. Skrene’s and hers, 
for he had just returned to court and had taken his stand 
on the other side of the dock. Their eyes met and it was 
to her as if she had spoken. Perhaps to him too. She 
shrank back into her usual dimensions and patiently suf- 
fered her tormentor to draw from her how she had roused 
Selby and Wells, visited Miss Skrene and returned home. 

“ Did you find your brother at home ? ” 

“ No.” 


FOREST FOLK 


190 

So quietly said, so sadly, that little word was to Tant the 
hardest to bear of any he had heard that day. 

She then related how she had seen the burning stacks 
and returned on horseback; how she had viewed the fire 
and then ridden round the house to the front. 

“ What did you see there ? ” 

u Men i’ the dark faighting and cursing ; heerd more 
than saw.” 

u What did you do ? ” 
w Pushed towards ’em.” 
u With what purpose ? ” 

“ I’ve never reckoned that up. But there was the crack 
of a fowling-piece and my hoss bolted.” 

“ Do your horses always bolt so conveniently ? ” 

M Full seldom they bolt at all. He wouldn’t ha’ done 
then if my mind had been on him.” 
w What was it on ? ” 

u On the trouble o’ the women and the folly o’ the men. 
As soon as I’d mestered him I rode back.” 
w As quick as you could ? ” 

“Ay, and it warn’t long.” 

“ What had happened ? ” 

M The men were gone from the winder, both the 
faighters and the swearers. v 
“ Well?” 

“ I rode straight up to it.” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ And looked in.” 
u What did you see ? ” 

Step by step she was drawn, step by step, make them 
short and slow as she would, to the inevitable avowal. 
u I saw men stanning up.” 
u What else ? ” 

“ I saw a man lying down.” 


KING v. RIDEOUT 


191 

u Who were the men standing up ? ” 

They were Mr. Skrene, Tom This, John That, and so 
forth. 

u Who was the man lying down ? ” 

M Anthony Rideout.” 

Then as though she would not be seeming to disclaim 
the relationship, her part of the crime : 

“ My brother.” 
u What happened next ? ” 

She turned in her distress to the bench. 
w My lord, must I ? ” 
w Answer the learned counsel.” 
w I went down on my knees.” 

“To whom ? ” 

She could not utter the word, but involuntarily she lifted 
finger. Everybody in court looked as it pointed and saw 
Arthur Skrene ; she was taken to have spoken. 
u For your brother’s life ? ” 
u What else suld I kneel for ? ” 
u For your own perhaps.” 

“ Never ! ” 

u What answer did Mr. Skrene make to that ? ” 
u I’ll never kneel no more, to man.” 

Again her eyes met Arthur Skrene’s ; that time not by 
hazard. 

u You haven’t answered my question,” said the little 
nagger. 

M I reckoned I had.” 

w Give me the exact words of Mr. Skrene’s reply.” 

“ I don’t mind the words.” 

The Serjeant did not rise ; he only put a little more of 
his weight on that elbow which rested on the table, as 
he said : 

u I’ve really nothing — m’ learned friend having been so 


192 


FOREST FOLK 


kind as to cross-examine for me — still When you 

rode round the corner of the house and saw the men at 

the window ” 

“ Yes, sir ? ” 

“ Did they appear to be marching in victoriously, unre- 
sisted, at the rate of one yard per five minutes, or was there 
a scuffle going on ? ” 

u There was a great lumber next the winder and a good 
deal o’ swearing round and about.” 

“ Swearing ? Hum — ah — as if at a young lady ? ” 
w They swore like men who’d got ho’d o’ the hot end o' 
summat.” 

“ Of a candlestick ? ” 

Nell shook her head. 

“ Of a fight perhaps ? ” 
u Specially of a faight.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY 

We may pass the next witnesses over, one or two of 
Arthur’s troopers, the constable who proved the arrest, the 
doctor who proved that he had earned his fees. 

41 Lois Skrene ! ” 

At the sound of the name Tant’s heart stood still. He 
had more fear of her verdict than the jury’s. Involuntarily 
he stepped back a little from the front of the dock. But she 
did not see him, or not with recognition. Partly because she 
did not wish to see him, partly because she had never been 
in a court of justice before and did not understand the sig- 
nificance of that spiky enclosure ; partly because she would 
hardly in any case have identified the pale grave man who 
stood apart in it with the desperate swashbuckler in her 
mind’s eye. She saw the stately judge close to her right 
hand, the boxed-up jury on her left, the teasing King’s 
Counsel in front of her with Arthur behind him ; all the 
rest was a mere sum of listening ears, looking eyes. Still 
she was not confused though much disturbed. Her cheeks 
being so pale, her lips so white, all the life of her counte- 
nance seemed to be concentrated in her eyes. Tant hardly 
seeing saw it all; her nervous struggle with her glove be- 
fore her right hand was bared for the oath, and then how 
the gloved fingers and the ungloved seized the edge of the 
box and held by it. She was more plainly and soberly clad 
than usual, for she loved gay fluttering attire. Being so 
slim and small she looked even younger than she was, and 
won the more pity for her evident distress. 

193 


i 9 4 


FOREST FOLK 


u Arthur, I can’t say it twice and I must say it then.” 
So she had answered when some attempt was made to as- 
certain the character of her evidence, and her brother and 
her doctor, who was in attendance, had not permitted her 
to be troubled further. But Smetham K.C. did not feel 
his way as he should have done ; he was too sure her story 
would be an echo of her brother’s, as a good sister’s ought 
to be. He went boldly at it with his customary snappish 
vehemence, only modified by a man’s acknowledgment, in- 
evitable however unconscious, of maidenly grace. She 
gave the first part of her testimony in full conformity with 
that of the other witnesses ; until she came to the time when 
she had entered the dining-room alone and stood looking 
the bookcase over ; then she heard a great noise behind her. 
“ What kind of a noise ? ” 

“ Oh, a fearful noise ! ” 

“ What sort of a fearful noise ? ” 
w I can’t say ; l’d never heard anything like it.” 

And the visible shudder that shook her told that she had 
no wish to hear the like again. 

“ But can’t you give the jury some more definite notion 
of it ? ” 

So he was insisting as those dully clever, heavily vehe- 
ment men will, had not the judge interposed. 

“ I think we’ve had enough of the noise, Mr. Smetham. 
Let us pass on to what made it.” 
u I looked round.” 
ct What did you see ? ” 

u I saw something, something large, coming into the 
room, coming towards me, as I thought, and it fell down 
with a great crash.” 

“ What was it ? ” 

“ I don’t think I knew at the time that it was the 
window.” 


GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY 195 

He stickled for the exact time when she came to know it 
was the window, but could get no satisfaction. 

“ And after the falling of the window ? ” 

“ A man came in.” 

Her voice shook as though she again saw the coming. 

“Did you know him ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Who was it ? ” 

“ I’ve heard him called Tant Rideout.” 

u The prisoner at the bar ? ” 

Lifting her eyes at that moment she saw Nell’s pale anx- 
ious face in the gallery in front of her. She was not able 
to bear another fear added to her own. All at once she fell 
to be uncertain whether she were saving or hanging. Her 
eyes followed the lawyer’s pointing finger. She beheld the 
spiky dock and instantly took in its significance. The 
prisoner she did not see ; fear and pity made a mist before 
her eyes. 

“ Was it the prisoner at the bar ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I can’t see.” 

“ Are you short-sighted ? ” asked the judge. 

u I don’t think I am.” 

But the tears fell, one from each eye, betraying what 
ailed her vision. She looked again, but fresh tears had 
gathered and again she could not see. She turned a little 
aside and with a quick shamefacedness drew her handker- 
chief across her eyes. But still she could not see. 

“Perhaps,” said the judge gently, “the young lady had 
better be taken round to the front of the dock.” 

She was helped down and guided, scarcely understanding 
what was being done with her. She had just wiped her 
eyes again and she saw, not a yard off, a face and nothing 
else; a young face, pale, dejected, ashamed, yet gravely 
decent, and so different from her memory of him that at 


FOREST FOLK 


196 

first she was ready to cry out, u It is not he ! ’’ Then she 
knew it was he. The tears fell again and shut him out. 
She was led back to the witness-box. 

u You have recognised him ? " 

The drop of the head went for more than the faint 
“ Yes." 

u Tell me now what happened after the prisoner thus 
entered ? ’’ 

“ Several other men entered." 

u Did you recognise any of them ? " 

w No, they all had black on their faces.” 

M And the prisoner also ? " 

u No, his face I could see. I was afraid of him. He 
came towards me. He shouted out, ‘ It’s the wrong 
house ! ’ " 

Men seemed instinctively to know that the crisis had 
been reached. They stood a-tiptoes, they curved their 
hands behind their ears. She too seemed to remember 
again that her mission was to save not to condemn ; she 
spoke more connectedly, in a louder voice. 

M The wrong house ? What did you understand by 
that ? " 

U I understood nothing; I understand nothing. He bade 
the others go. c Clear out of here ! ’ that was what he said. 
They were angry ; he was very angry. A little man called 
him a traitor. He took the little man and threw him out of 
the window. The little man came back with a pistol in his 
hand. Mr. Rideout hit him on the arm and the pistol 
went off ; then the little man went away as if he were 
hurt." 

Each man there looked in his neighbour’s eyes. A 
u little man " had been the town’s talk for months. The 
King’s Counsel was taken aback ; this was not at all what 
he had expected. 


1 97 


GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY 

u Was the prisoner drunk ? ” he asked. 
u Oh, if he were, sir, I could understand men thinking 
they are the better for getting drunk.” 

After that he almost left her examination to the judge. 
u What happened next ? ” 

“ There was a fight.” 

“ Between whom ? ” 

“ The prisoner against all the others.” 
u Give us what details you can of it.” 
u Oh, my lord, it was so brave, it was so terrible ! He 
struck two men down, then more and more came against 
him, some with swords and some with — I don’t know what 
else. He had only a flail, my lord, a bit of stick. I prayed 
that he might win. But they were too many. They 
pushed further in, further in; their faces were all black; 
there seemed no help ; I could not speak. All at once he 
stooped and lifted the table up as if it were nothing. He 
ran at them with it. A man fell down and groaned. The 
others were driven back to the window.” 
u How was that ? ” 

w I can’t say. It was only one man, my lord. I had 
my eyes on him all the while. I felt as if I were saved. 
Then a gun went off, close by ; Mr. Rideout fell down. I 
saw no more.” 

The King’s Counsel, immensely put out, asked her why 
she had delayed offering her highly-interesting evidence 
until the last moment. 

M I did not know until yesterday of the trial. I have 
been ill ; nobody spoke to me about it ; and talking about 
it seemed worse to me than thinking about it.” 

Serjeant Manning rose in civility to the witness’s sex, 
but as though he would sooner have sat. He said : 

“ I’ve no right to cross-examine my own witness. How- 
ever I might — er — one thing — matter of mere curiosity : 


198 


FOREST FOLK 


You did not, Miss Skrene, with your own hands aid in the 
rout of the rioters ? ” 

“ Oh no ! ” 

“ You simply held the candle ? ” 

“Just so.” 

“ That’s my case, m’ lud,” said the King’s Counsel. 

“And mine, m’ lud,” said the Serjeant; who addressed 
the jury to this effect : 

“ Well, gentlemen, no evidence whatever has been 
offered you to connect the prisoner with what went on at 
the back of the house, so just a word or two about what 
happened at the front. The prosecution has but one 
witness ; m’ learn’d friend will be obliged to ask you to 
disbelieve her; I ask you to believe her. Men like 
you could not but be touched by the manner in which 
she gave her testimony, which came with almost as 
much surprise to me as it did to my learn’d brother 
who essayed to examine her. For the man’s noble 
modesty kept his deed a secret; his friends, his counsel 
knew nothing of it ; until it was revealed so late yet so ef- 
fectually by her. What does it amount to ? There’s the 
smashing of a window, by whom unknown. This young 
man with his face honest and uncovered enters by it in 
company with a masked mob. He cries out, c It’s the 
wrong house ! ’ With unheard of strength and courage he 
expels them from the room, saving it from further damage 
and that young lady from horrors the mention of which 
would be a horror. For thanks he gets that wound which 
the medical gentleman has described to you with a learning 
I admire but can’t imitate. Well then, it appears the counsel 
for the prosecution has two counts to his indictment against 
the prisoner ; his courage and his modesty. What can I say 
against them ? If crimes be estimated by their rarity both 
are serious ones, and both have been proved against him. 


GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY 


l 99 


You’ll be asked to hang him for them ; or one of them. I 
shan’t ask you not ; but I don’t think you will. Well, 
you’ll say, but what was the prisoner doing in such company, 
and what did he mean by 1 It’s the wrong house ’ ? Gentle- 
men, the prosecution can’t tell you, the prisoner mayn’t. 
After all it’s only a matter of curiosity ; but curiosity’s 
a human craving, and I make this suggestion : It has been 

proved he was in a state of intoxication, and ” 

M Nothing of the sort ! ” cried the King’s Counsel. 
u Miss Rideout’s evidence,” said the Serjeant. 
u Fiddlesticks ! ” 

“ Miss Skrene’s.” 

“ Ditto.” 

“ Be it so. I’m no hand at this sort of thing. After all, 
gentlemen, I am superfluous here, impertinently superfluous. 
That maiden, so young, so sweet, has already made the 
speech for the defence. You have heard her. Who am I 
that I should speak after her ? Gentlemen, this lad’s either 
a housebreaker or a hero. You’ve got to say which.” 

The King’s Counsel spoke for an hour. He contended 
that Lois’s brain must have been paralyzed by that first 
fearful noise, and that the remainder of her evidence was 
the gift of a disordered fancy. He certainly proved that 
Tant was keeping very bad company. But his length dis- 
pleased the jury with his arguments, and contrasted ill with 
the Serjeant’s brevity. The judge did not sum up alto- 
gether in Tant’s favour either; there were many points in 
the evidence difficult, some impossible to wrest to a satis- 
factory interpretation ; but by that time the jury had had 
enough of pros and cons, and gave him a respectful inatten- 
tion. They sat for half-an-hour in a room with a view of 
nothing, until a lean man who had taken notes gave up his 
intention of forming an independent judgment, and then 
brought in a verdict of not guilty. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE INFORMATION 

The verdict was received by nobody with so much disap- 
pointment as by the Luddite leaders at Nottingham. The 
conspiracy had degenerated from that early austerity, which 
lent its violences the mask of a judicial punishment; they 
were already made sometimes a means to private revenge 
or plunder, often a cloak to personal laxity. As the saying 
went, Ned Ludd had turned thief. He also turned in- 
former. There was a standing reward of fifty pounds on 
offer by the Government for such evidence as should con- 
vict any person of an act of machine-breaking within the 
proclaimed district. On the very night of the trial Ben 
Foat of Fishpool, who had begun to hobble about with a 
stick, received a secret intimation that he might earn the 
money if he would. He called on the nearest magistrate, 
General Deene of Spring Vale, as early as he might in the 
morning and declared his readiness and ability to prove that 
Tant Rideout, in company with others unknown, had a 
year before broken a frame which was being conveyed along 
the Rufford road. He himself was out bird-catching ; he 
had lain among the gorse by the roadside and unseen had 
seen all. He gave the name of the Basford carrier who 
was conveying the machine, and added : 

w What’ll prove it’s true, sir, ’s this : It war the very day 
Mester Skrene fust coom’d to Blid’orth. The chaps 
stopped ’im on the road an’ turned ’im back. He’d tell yer 
if yer-r axed ’im.” 


200 


THE INFORMATION 


201 


“ How can you be sure it was Rideout,” asked the Gen- 
eral, “ if he had a mask on ? ” 

u A bit of a crape bluft is no concealment to a chap o’ 
Tant’s uncommon hair an’ figure, i’ broad daylight too. 
I’d guarantee to own ’im anywheer an’ anywhen.” 
u But why didn’t you lay your information sooner ? ” 

Ben it appears was driven to his last resource for an 
excuse. 

“ Well, sir, it were this ’ow, my missis were again it.” 
After the General had properly insulted his cowardice, 
he bade him call again in the evening, and in the meantime 
not breathe a word about the matter to anybody. The 
General was a busy man that day. He himself rode over 
to Basford, saw the carrier and received confirmation of the 
story ; put Foat’s information into writing and swore him, 
wrote out the warrant and made the necessary arrangements 
for its execution. Tant’s strength, activity and reckless 
daring being well known, two special constables were sum- 
moned to back up Tom White ; besides which three or four 
troopers of the local Yeomanry were ordered to attend in 
case of emergency. These were instructed to rendezvous 
at High Farm. It was the side from which the arrest could 
be attempted with the least observation ; besides it gave the 
General an opportunity both of requiring Arthur to take 
command of the Yeomanry, and also with the least loss of 
time of questioning him as to his alleged presence during 
the machine-breaking. 

Night had fallen when the General called. Arthur was 
at home ; it would have been a serious duty indeed which 
at that time would have persuaded him to leave his sister to 
other protection than his own. He was sitting at the table, 
which was overspread with account-books, and was trying 
to put some orders into his affairs, which had been sadly 
disarranged by the disastrous fire ; and yet his eyes did not 


202 


FOREST FOLK 


always rest upon the ruled pages before him. Lois reclined 
beside the hearth pale and inert ; she had not recovered 
from the injurious excitement of the trial. Her head 
ached, she could not read, she could not sew ; apparently 
she found watching Arthur’s puckered brow a sorry occu- 
pation, for at last she said with the affectionate peevishness 
of an invalid : 

a For goodness’ sake, Arthur dear, do lay aside that 
arithmetical countenance and give me one of your Kent 
looks.” 

Arthur was constrained to look up ; and the constraint 
was mixed with the affection of his look, an equal ingredient. 

u It’s rent day, next week,” he said. 

He may have been thinking of the rent all the time ; 
anyhow it accounted for puckers on the brow as well as 
anything else. 

u Oh, I can’t bother about anything so far away as next 
week. It seems as far off as Kent; so the one balances 
the other.” 

u I was wondering how much General Deene would give 
me for my roan mare.” 

He bent his head over his books again. 

“ Arthur ! ” 

“Yes?” 

Again he had to raise his head. 

“ You’ve seen her on horseback ? ” 

“Yes. Who?” 

His eyes dropped, but not his head. 

“ Didn’t she look grand ? ” 

“ Who ? Twelve- — twenty — twenty-nine — thirty-five — 
forty-two. Two, four, two.” 

“ I won’t answer your question.” 

She lay back in her chair in a resolved silence, and broke 
it again in five-and-twenty seconds. 


THE INFORMATION 


203 


u If you know more than one person here to whom the 
question might apply, either your taste is more promiscuous 
than I thought, or Blidworth is favoured beyond the rest of 
the world.” 

“You didn’t mention Blidworth, Loie ; I thought your 
question was as broad as the universe.” 

In a minute or two she broke the addition of a long col- 
umn by saying : 

“Arthur, if I were a Haroun-al-Rashid autocrat I’d sit 
in a lighted saloon hung round with the dark, and have her 
dash in and out on a wild Arab. I think the sight would 
shame my head into steadiness and my legs and back into 
strength.” 

“Ninety-six at twenty-three and three ” 

“ Arthur ! ” 

“ Well ? ” 

“ When she came into the house on that night, wet, dis- 
orderly and great, a part and parcel of the elements, she 
made me dwindle into a rag-doll with ink-dots for eyes and 
saw-dust for soul.” 

“Three thirteens thirty-nine; and a half makes ” 

“ Arthur, what do you think ? I didn’t mention it at 
the trial ; I wasn’t asked. I heard a woman’s voice out- 
side among the men’s just before — you know what.” 

“ Hers ! ” 

“ But what would she be doing there ? ” 

“ She said in her examination that she didn’t know. 
You can hardly expect me to be better informed than 
herself. Three at twenty -eight, seven, six ” 

But five minutes thence and yet he had not completed 
the simple multiplication. His mind had gone off, as it 
had again and again that evening, on its erroneous ram- 
blings. He would have liked to believe ill of Nell ; and 
when for the momentary lifetime of a thought he sue- 


204 


FOREST FOLK 


ceeded, he was angry with his success. He would have 
liked not to believe ill of her, until he felt he was being 
compelled to be just; and then he was displeased with 
the compulsion. So believing or disbelieving, his feelings 
towards her were the same ; bitter for the wrong she had 
done him, or bitter and more bitter for the wrong he was 
doing her. Of course it was all very absurd ; his inmost 
judgment sitting in chamber exonerated her. Had he been 
in love now — the flushed epiderm of a lover is so irritably 
sensitive that it can feel the hot or cold of a thought. But 
Arthur Skrene’s only excuse was that he had lost ^500 by 
the fire, and was just then striking the balance of the year’s 
profit or loss. 

“ But, Arthur ! ” 

“ Well, Loie ? ” 

He was turning the leaves of a ready-reckoner. 
w Has he been thanked ? ” 
u Thanked ? ” 

He pencilled a calculation on a margin. 

“ He has not been thanked ! Yet ! Come, Arthur ! ” 
She rose. w I’m quite well. Let us go, at once. Only 
think if his service had been as dilatory as our acknowl- 
edgment of it ! ” She sank down again into her chair. 
u I’m not quite well.” Arthur renounced pen and book, 
got up from the table and went round to the hearth. “I’m 
afraid I’m more coward than invalid. The very thought 

of being in the same room again, of speaking to him ” 

“You must not go, Loie; it is not fitting. What 
thanks are necessary I will convey. I acknowledge that 
he must be thanked since he has been acquitted.” 

“ It was the question of our gratitude then that was put 
to the jury ? ” 

“ The judge summed up unfavourably.” 

“ He saved me.” 


THE INFORMATION 


205 


u Probably he was drunk and didn’t know what he was 
doing. His desperate character is indisputable. I believe 
he has long been a confederate with those scoundrels.” 

“ Is there a moon to-night, Arthur ? ” 

“No. Why? You remember my telling you how I 
had witnessed the smashing of some machinery by the 
roadside on the day of my arrival ? This fellow was at 
the head of them. I jumped into recognition of him 
when — on that night ; as he lay.” A febrile shiver shot 
through her. “ I wondered it had never occurred to me 
before.” 

He need not have wondered. What occurs to us (as we 
so funnily put it) is rarely what we are going to meet ; as 
often as not it is what we are running away from. 

In a minute she said : 

“ Are these machines very expensive ? ” 

“ Some of them are ; they vary very much in cost.” 

“ Like us.” She rose again. “ Pm a machine, Arthur, 
a little more delicate and intricate, though not so valuable. 
Still it’s something to his credit that he prevented me from 
being smashed.” 

She was going from the room ; he took her by the hand, 
led her back to her chair and with gentle force seated her 
in it again. 

“You’re not going, Loie; Pm going.” 

He went into the kitchen at once and pulled his top- 
boots on. But when he returned to the hall Lois was there 
reaching down her hooded cloak. 

“ It has occurred to me,” she said, “ that only the per- 
son can give thanks who feels them. I forget whether you 
said moon or no moon, and I don’t care. Now only a 
thicker pair of shoes and Pm ready. Pm not afraid of 
Miss Rideout, nor half so much afraid as I ought to be of 
Mrs. Gillott.” 


206 


FOREST FOLK 


As she pulled on her shoes in the parlour a rising thought 
seemed to give her stealthy comfort. 

u And perhaps he won’t be at home, Arthur.” 

M Most likely he’ll be at the public-house.” 

At which moment there was a knock at the door. Mary 
ushered in the General, who with absent-minded gallantry 
complimented the young lady upon her good looks, then 
asked to speak with Arthur alone. Lois withdrew. The 
two men’s conversation did not turn, as Arthur half ex- 
pected it would, upon the price of hunters. He gave addi- 
tional support to Foat’s information, and also undertook 
command of the squad of volunteer troopers. He could 
not do otherwise. He hardly wished to do otherwise. But 
he hoped Nell would be out of the way. 

And yet, and yet, she was not quite out of the way even 
then. She had her eyes upon him, even as when she said : 
w I will never kneel no more, to man.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE WARRANT 

After leaving her brother and the General Lois went 
up-stairs to her own room, whence presently she heard the 
impatient crunching of the gravel outside by the hoofs of 
what seemed to be more than one horse. She could see 
nothing through the window ; she ran down-stairs to the 
kitchen driven by new fears upon old ones. 

u It’s nubbut the Yeomanry, miss,” said the cook. 

M What have they come here for ? ” 

“ I dunno, miss — lackeying the Gen’ral about, I s’pose.” 

Lois remembered the last time Arthur had been sum- 
moned forth ; she felt the fear of the past danger. She 
went to the front door, candle in hand, opened it on the 
chain and peeped out. By the strip of light issuing 
through the narrow aperture she had a glimpse five or six 
yards off of a horse’s fore-quarters, his rider’s legs and 
hands. She recognised the accoutrements of the Yeo- 
manry Cavalry. From the room on her right the bass and 
tenor buzz of the General’s and her brother’s voices was 
heard. 

“ Who’s there ? ” she said. 

u On’y uz, miss ; Archer, miss ; waiting for the 
Gen’ral.” 

She undid the chain and opened the door. The whole 
of a horse and his rider was dimly visible, and she knew 
the latter very well. 

“ Oh dear, Mr. Archer ! ” she said, “ are you called out 
again ? ” 


207 


208 


FOREST FOLK 


“Nubbut a little bit of a jaunt this time, miss; don’t 
be afeared. Next door as yer might say.” He lowered 
his voice. u We’re not understood to know, so we didn’t 
ought to tell; but” — still lower fell his voice — “Tant 
Rideout again, miss. Machine-smashin’. We’ve clawked 
’im this time, sure-lye ! ” 

So soon again? What an irreclaimable desperado! 
The nobler figure which through her tears she had seen in 
the dock was blotted out ; she again beheld in its place the 
wild drunken swash-buckler who had at first affrighted 
her. 

M As you can’t leave your horses, Mr. Archer, I will 
send some refreshment out to you, if you’ll allow me.” 

M Thank yer, miss, but we don’t want to put yer to no 
trouble.” 

“ No trouble at all, Mr. Archer.” 

She knew that the statutory punishment of machine- 
breaking by an act of the last session of Parliament was 
death u without benefit of clergy.” In the short walk 
from the front door to the kitchen she saw all the hideous 
ceremony of a hanging ; not in its own sordid daylight 
horror, but with the night-terrors of an ignorant imagina- 
tion. She saw the agony of a black distorted face all the 
time she was speaking to the cook about a jug of ale. She 
put her gloves on. She had resolved on nothing. 

Mary had gone for the ale, Elizabeth was out. She 
heard the handle of the parlour door turn, and the voices 
which had been a mere buzz immediately became loud and 
near. If she were to do what she had not resolved to do, 
there was no time to lose. She went out by the kitchen 
door, round crew-yard and stackyard and across that first 
grass field. There she stopped afraid of the way before 
her, and when she looked back afraid of the return. The 
night was only lighted by the austerity of the stars. The 


THE WARRANT 


209 


early silence of winter was upon all things. She had never 
before been out alone by night in the open fields and it was 
awful to her. She saw nothing that she knew but the 
stars, and they were terrifically distant. Should she go 
back ? She turned to go back ; and there was the figure 
of one of the big oaks sombrely outlined against the sky ; 
it suggested to her a black cap on the rigid head of an old, 
old judge, mercilessly just. Those two stars which looked 
through the boughs were his steely eyes. She turned the 
other way and sped across the dark fields, seeing as little as 
she could of the shadows that quivered in the still air like 
things dying, not yet dead. She had made no resolve. 
Many a time she started aside, many a time she would fain 
have gone back. At the bottom of the descent willow 
trees lined the tiny mist-hung brook, making a thicker 
gloom where it had to be crossed by stepping-stones ; and 
close by it was widened into a vaporous pool, inky black, 
at which the cattle drank. There she stood again, afraid to 
go forward, unable to go back. 

But she heard the steely chink of horses* accoutrements 
on the hill above ; it spurred her, not to resolve but to 
move. Striving to make her eyes and ears deaf to her 
fancy, she felt her way across the dark stepping-stones. 
One stone she missed and went over-shoes ; at the touch 
of the cold water she started as though something had 
gotten hold of her, and ran. In a minute she stood by the 
door breathless with haste and her fears, fear of the way 
she had come — that was passed — fear of the man, which 
now freshly sprang upon her like a new terror. 

Through the uncurtained window she could peep into 
the kitchen. In comparison with the outer darkness the 
combined light of the fire and the one dip on the table seemed 
a bright and cheerful glow. The hearth was swept, the 
labourers had gone home, the day’s toil was over ; what 


210 


FOREST FOLK 


remained was the work of pastime. The nearest figure 
was a man’s, Tant’s, as she knew with an unbelieving 
sureness. He sat by the table close to the candle, and was 
fashioning with a knife a piece of willow-wood into the 
sole of a woman’s clog, a kind of patten without the iron 
ring to raise it. Behind him was the fire and the three 
women ; the grandmother and Tish on either side, while 
Nell basked in front of it in her favourite languorsome at- 
titude. The old woman’s wheel made a faint hum, as 
drowsily cheerful as a cat’s purr. Of Tish she could only 
see the broad back and the industrious hands that knitted. 
Nell’s was the face of one who had laughed and was 
ready to laugh again ; her listening eyes were fixed on 
Tant. As if in response to them he looked up from his 
work and spoke with a soft-voiced mockery, which made 
the laughter ripple again on Nell’s face. Tish answered 
him with her customary loud tartness ; but as she turned 
her head to do so Lois saw that the severity of her profile 
was complacent. 

The girl’s hand hesitated at the knock in a wonder that 
made her for the moment forget her errand. What a strange 
man ! Here was another of his moods. He seemed to 
have as many changes of personality as the better-to-do 
have of raiment. Who could have believed that pleasant 
high pitched baritone was his, or those features fine for all 
their boldness, or the fireside mockery of his eyes, grey like 
Nell’s, or — but she must knock. She hoped that Nell 
would open, or even Tish. But it was Tant’s form which 
stood before her largely outlined ; she shrank back a little 
into the dark, uncertain whether he were at the end of his 
metamorphoses. 

“ Who is it ? ” he asked. 

It was the fireside voice ; she came forward a little. His 
surprised recognition was immediate. 


THE WARRANT 


21 1 


“Miss Skrene ! Will you please to enter? It’ll be a 
kindness to boots.” 

She went in, her physical and mental vision both 
dazed. The sisters had already risen and the grand- 
mother’s wheel was still. As soon as Nell saw her face 
she cried: 

“ Yo bring bad news ! ” 

“ It can’t be bad news,” said Tant. 

He set a chair for her, and without his touching her or 
her willing it she found herself sitting in it. 

“Speak, lass!” said Tish sharply. “Tongues need 
never ha’ been invented if looks would ha’ sarved.” 

“Let the lady tek her own time,” said Tant quietly; 
“ as is her raight.” 

He sat himself and with his hand motioned the others to 
be seated. It was a marvellous thing, but Tish obeyed the 
gesture as well as Nell. 

“ We can’t hope to thank yer,” he said, “ but maybe 
yo’ll let us try, at a time convenient ? That’ll be summat 
for fresh thanks.” 

“ I too,” she gasped, “ I too — but ” She turned to 

the younger sister, as being the one of whom she was least 
afraid, and said in an awakened voice, “ They’re coming to 
take your brother ! They’re coming now ! ” 

“ For the same ? ” 

“ For machine-breaking.” 

Nell cried out in her anguish, “ So soon again ! Oh, 
Tant ! ” 

“ Welladay, welladay ! ” said the old woman and wrung 
her hands. 

The sisters uprose ; Tant sat beside Lois. 

“ It moot be an oad charge,” said he. “ I’m as clear sin 
then as if I’d been chained up. I don’t consider mysen at 
liberty.” 


212 


FOREST FOLK 


“ They’re coming now ! ” cried Lois. u They’re on the 
hill!” 

“They’re i’ the croft,” said Tant quietly, not stirring. 

“ Mizzle out the road, lad,” said Tish, “ as quick as yo 
can.” 

“I could run without any on ’em,” said Tant; “but 
they’ve hosses an’ all.” 

“ Yes,” said Lois, nervous hand clasping hand, “ there’s 
the Yeomanry. And my brother.” 

“ He’ll hae a good hoss too,” said Tant, and so saying 
he reached back and extinguished the candle. “ It mootn’t 
be knowed as I’m here.” He rose. “ Mek the door, 
Nell, quick and quiet ; they’re coming round the corner.” 

He himself took a large clothes-horse, which stood aside 
by the wall thickly hung with linen, and extended it in 
front of the fire so as to block its light. 

“ Where shall I go ? ” said Lois, starting up and seizing 
Nell by the arm. “ They will know, they will know ! ” 
Which had not occurred to her before. 

“They’re all round the house now,” said Tant at a 
whisper. “ I’ve a road out for mysen, but it’s none for a 
lady.” 

“ Oh take me, take me any way, so long as it is a way ! ” 

“ It’s that or noat,” said Nell ; “ they’ll purr and pry 
into every corner.” 

Deafly came their whispers to the old woman behind the 
clothes-horse. 

“ Why do yer talk so low ? ” she cried. “ Hae they 
ta’en him ? ” 

“ No, granmam, and wain’t,” said Tish. “ Mek yer 
wheel hum.” 

With a trembling foot the grandmother pressed the 
treadle ; the wheel span round, the wool ran between her 
trembling figures; with her blind eyes she saw trouble. 


THE WARRANT 


213 


The others hurried up the narrow stairs, Tant leading. 
There was a knock at the door, and again a knock ; at 
the third and loudest knocking the old woman’s hoarse 
voice uprose : 

“ Who’s theer ? ” 

u Nubbut me.” 

“Eh? I can’t hear. Yo moot stan’ a while; they’re 
up-stairs.” 

Meanwhile Tant had led on into his own chamber, 
opened the casement, cautiously removed the loose tiles 
from the roof of the shed, so gaining passage through to 
the false floor which underlay it at that end. He stood 
out shoulder high, and to make room for the young lady he 
took away two or three tiles more. The strong hands of 
Tish and Nell lowered the slight girl into his arms ; he 
gently drew her down, and placed her on a heap of sack- 
covered potatoes on the floor. His whisper was agitated. 

“Shall yo forgie me — sometime? I was fo’ced. There 
was no other road.” 

She could not answer. It was pitch dark. There was 
the sound of a horse pulling at his chain below ; there was 
the sharp smell of the onions which overspread half the 
floor, and had been crushed by Tant’s foot; there was a 
louder and yet louder beating at the kitchen door. She 
forgot under what aspect she had last beheld Tant; she 
was not sure of the permanency of any aspect ; she was 
fearfully afraid of him again. 

“ Please to sit still,” he whispered, “ or yo might fall. I 
shall soon be back.” 

He appeared to go from her noiselessly; then she was 
afraid of his absence. And it was so dark ! 

But the darkness was broken by the glimmer of a lantern 
at the far end of the shed. The light increased as the 
lantern advanced, until it revealed a man carrying it and 


214 


FOREST FOLK 


another walking behind him. Tant she could not see; he 
had dropped to the ground from the edge of the false floor. 
Then the light seemed to Lois a worse thing than the 
dark; but Tant gave it a halved blessing ; it showed him 
the ladder for which he had been groping. He lay squat 
behind the colt which occupied the last stall, until the 
lantern-bearer was on the point of passing round it ; then 
by the same quick blow with the shaft of a fork he knocked 
the lantern out of the man’s hand and smote the colt 
smartly across his quarters. The colt lunged out with the 
devil’s own temper, so promptly that it seemed simulta- 
neous with the fall of the lantern. The light was extin- 
guished ; the man cursed and swore. 

w Drabbit it ! The hoss kicked it out of my hand,” he 
said, w and oad Nick knows wheer ’tis. It’s well it warn’t 
my brains. Woa ! hoss, woa! and be damned to yer ! ” 

Tant prodded the animal with the tines of the fork, and 
he kicked and plunged more furiously than before. 

“ I’m not a gooin’ to risk my life for’t. Yo’d better goo 
back for a light, Dan, whilst I stop here. What a vicious 
mortal it is ! ” 

The second man departed. As quickly and quietly as 
he might Tant raised the ladder and again mounted to the 
false floor. 

M Don’t speak, don’t fear,” he whispered. cc It moot be ; 
though yo suld ne’er forgie me.” 

He took her up in one arm like a child ; like a child she 
instinctively put her arms round his neck. So he descended 
the ladder. Their movements had been veiled by the colt’s 
continued plunging. There was a window in the wall 
thereby opening into the field and closed by a wooden 
shutter. That Tant undid. The creak of bolt and hinges, 
or the sudden whiff* of cold air and the glimmer there- 
through of something less than complete darkness called the 


THE WARRANT 


215 


man’s attention. The colt was quiet for the moment. He 
holloaed to his comrades, then dashed after them. He was 
felled by Tant’s fist, and was lucky to escape falling under 
the colt’s hoofs. Tant lifted the lady out through the 
window and lightly followed himself. But the man’s out- 
cries, standing and falling, had roused his fellows; Tant 
espised two of them running round the end of the building 
towards them ; from down the field he heard a hussar trot- 
ting up. There was no time to lose ; he took Lois’s hand 
and fled with her round the corner of the house. But 
where was the chance of escape for both of them against 
such pursuit ? With a sudden desperate thought he stopped 
at the front door, opened it, entered, drew Lois in after 
him and quickly closed it again. The next moment their 
pursuers dashed by. 

Tant’s hope was that they might be able to pass through 
the house to the back and so into safety, while attention 
was concentrated on the front ; at the worst he could give 
himself up, when his fair would-be preserver could easily 
slip away unnoticed. They had entered straight into the 
u room ” ; the door on their right hand led directly to the 
kitchen. On this Tant gently scraped with his finger- 
nail ; such a noise as any little gnawing animal might make. 
Immediately Nell on the other side was heard to say : 

“ St, puss, st ! There’s a mouse.” 

Tant softly drew the bolt and secured the door. The 
moment after they heard the General’s well-known voice, 
throatily authoritative : 

w Are you troubled with mice ? ” 

u Now and again,” said Nell. 

Tant returned to the front door and cautiously opened it 
a few inches. 

“ By gosh, so I tho’t ! We’ve hooked him this time ! 
Sartain-lye ! ” 


2l6 


FOREST FOLK 


It was Tom White who stood within two yards of the 
door and beside him one of the special constables. 

u Is that you, White?” said Taut through the chink 
softly, but in exact imitation of the General, throatily 
authoritative. 

“ Yes, sir. Beg pardon, sir ; I tho’t ” 

“We have captured the prisoner. Go round to the 
back of the house and await orders. Take the other men 
with you.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Have you the warrant ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Give it to me.” 

The constable placed it in the hand held forth to him. 

Two or three minutes later the General looked out of 
the kitchen door and saw the constables standing inactive 
in the yard ; on the other side of the gate he also saw dim 
inactive shapes of the Yeomanry ; all but their sergeant. 

“ What the deuce are you all doing here ? ” he asked. 

“Waiting for orders, sir,” said Tom White respectfully. 

“Waiting for orders ? You’ve got your orders. It’s a 
thousand to one you’ve let your man slip through your 
fingers.” 

“ Yo telled uz yo’d got ’im captured, sir.” 

“ I told you, you infernal fool ? When ? Where ? ” 

“ Not a minute agoo, sir, round at the front door. And 
yo said ” 

“ I’ve never been there, you sublime jackass ! You must 
be drunk.” 

“Well, sir, if it warn’t yo, it war Tant his own sen.” 

The General’s voice, throaty no longer, flew to its head- 
notes. 

“ OfF with you ! Sharp ! Catch him ! Fetch him ! 
Or you shall hear about it.” 


THE WARRANT 


2I 7 


“ I hain’t got the warrant, sir.’’ 

“ Where is it ? ” 
u I gied yo it.” 
u You lie ! ” 

M I mean ’im — Tant. Yo axed for’t.” 
u I did, you Tom fool ? ” 

U I mean ’im — Tant.” 

The General cursed as fluently as though he had served 
in Flanders. 


CHAPTER XX 


LOIS’S PRISONER 

As soon as the constables had disappeared Tant and Lois 
sped across the vaporous croft towards the crossing-place 
at the foot of the hill. But through the mist they were 
observed by one of the Yeomanry who was patrolling at 
the back of the outbuildings, and he came after them at a 
hand-gallop, calling on them to stop, threatening to fire. 
If they kept together it was impossible but that they should 
both be taken. 

u Run, Miss Skrene, run,” said Tant. w Cross the beck, 
lose yoursen among the shadders o’ the trees and yo’ll be 
safe. I mun stop and try what this saddle-bumper’s 
worth.” 

Lois ran on scarcely understanding his meaning; he 
stood and was immediately overtaken. He had a desperate 
thought in his mind of unarmed resistance. Anyhow it 
would be better to be shot by night than hanged by day. 
But the carbine or something else daunted him; he made 
no attempt, but simply said : 

u M’appen I’m the man yo want, Serjeant Skrene ? ” 

M I’m sorry, but I must do my duty. What person was 
it who was with you ? ” 

“ I gie mysen up, I don’t gie anybody else away.” 
u I must require you to walk before me to the house.” 
u I’d sooner goo first. But to be in order yo’ll need 
this bit o’ paper.” 
u What is it?” 


u The warrant.” 


218 


LOIS’S PRISONER 


219 

Arthur took it and Tant went before him towards the 
house. 

Lois, scarcely understanding, ran to the verge of the 
black shadows ; then she realised that she was alone, 
stopped running and looked back. She saw as she thought 
Tant and the horseman standing and talking some thirty 
yards off ; the thin mist hardly rose higher than the horse’s 
girth. She wondered and listened. The black shadows 
were dreadful. She went a little way back. She thought 
— approached a little nearer and knew — that the second 
voice was her brother’s. She ran back. She was at Ar- 
thur’s stirrup before he saw her. She was no longer the 
timorous maid. 

“Arthur, this is my prisoner; you’ve no right to him.” 

Her brother’s astonishment was great. 

u Lois ! What are you doing here ? ” 

u Conducting my prisoner to prison. I beg you won’t 
interfere with the course of justice.” 

“Ma’am,” said Tant, “forgie me if I say yo’re doing 
what yo’ve no raight to do.” 

“ I can’t argue against two men ; but I can insist against 
a hundred. I do now.” 

“Lois,” said Arthur, “you ask what is impossible.” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! ” said Lois, “ what I ask is never impos- 
sible.” 

“Would you have me fail in my duty, Lois, forswear 
my oath ? ” 

“No, Arthur dear, I only want what I asked for.” 

“ I can’t, Lois.” 

“ Well, if you take one you shall take both. There’ll 
be the more credit.” 

Arthur sat his horse, undetermined. 

“ Put your head down. Lower ; you forget what a 
midget I am.” Then standing a-tiptoes she whispered in 


220 


FOREST FOLK 


his ear : u Don’t you understand that he might easily have 
escaped himself, but has given his life to save me from the 
twopenny disgrace of being caught in his company ? The 
second time, Arthur. He must have a great many lives in 
his pocket ; or else — or else what ? ” 

He began to say that Rideout’s offence was liable to 
nothing worse than transportation, having been committed 
before the passing of the act inflicting capital punishment, 
but he stopped at the first word, feeling that such a reply 
lacked force. Indeed in his opinion Botany Bay chiefly 
differed from hanging in its longer-lived horror. Seeing he 
had nothing to say, she turned again to Tant. 

“Follow me, Mr. Rideout.” 

Tant did not stir. What his emotions were the night hid. 

u Come with me, Mr. Rideout.” 

Still he did not move. She took him lightly by the cuff 
of the coat, and led him off. 

Equally displeased with his indecision and with any pos- 
sible decision, Arthur sat his horse and worked the war- 
rant into a pellet between his fingers, until the two were 
out of sight among the black shadows; then he filliped the 
law-pellet from him into space and galloped back towards 
the house. Perhaps he hoped to shake something off in 
his gallop. On the other side of the croft he saw a 
shadowy man or men crossing towards the road to the 
Bottoms. He rode after them galloping furiously. When 
he was close upon them he reined in with a loud “ Who 
goes there ? ” One of the men burst into a laugh, and 
said with Wells’s voice : 

“It’s on’y huz, mester; it een’t Tant Rideout. He’s 
got clean off ; he’s fur enough by this.” 

u He war seen, an’ he warn’t seen, all of a moment,” 
said the other, who was Spettigew. w There’s been 
witchery in’t, woman’s witchery, tek my word for’t.” 


LOIS’S PRISONER 


221 


And Arthur was much of his opinion. He rode back 
towards the house without haste, dissatisfied with himself 
and things in general. Half-way he met with Nell, who 
had come out on the grass just in order to avoid him and 
others. He passed her with a cool good-night, then reined 
his horse round at a kinder impulse and said : 

u Your brother has succeeded in escaping.” 

M Yes,” she answered ; “yo hain’t addled the fifty pound 
yet.” 

She turned from him and went away in search of a dark 
place ; she felt the need of it. There was a white darkness 
where the grass sprang ; it hid her feet ; but to her head the 
starry sky was no cover, rather a discovering. She sought 
the brook-side. There were shady places there under the 
mingled overhanging of willows, crab-trees and stunted 
oaks, places where the instability of the water was indis- 
tinguishable from the firm ground ; but yet there were es- 
capings of light through the stirring leaves,, She chose a 
spot under the blackness of a fir which domineered over 
the other trees ; but even there, through the blackest of the 
black, she saw looking up a faint faint star like an eye 
peering down upon her. She returned towards the house ; 
it was still, the intruders had departed from its precincts, 
'Arthur and all ; she entered the long stable. It had a dark- 
ness of its own, closed in, separate from the incomplete 
darkness of the open air. The invisible impatience of the 
colt, the loud champing of invisible cart-horses did not 
mar its solitude. She sat on a bat of straw in an empty 
stall, and gave way to the sweet bitterness of tears. For 
she too was a woman and subject to moods. She had been 
much tried of late by great troubles, great reliefs ; she was 
overwearied too with an almost night-and-day nursing of 
her great-grandmother, on whom had fallen the last restless- 
ness before the final rest. After a while she felt the light 


222 


FOREST FOLK 


pressure of the greyhound’s slender paw in her lap ; she 
could not see the inquiry of her eyes, but she answered it. 

“ There, there, my pet ! we’ve cried a great plenty. Now 
let’s sit and think why.” 

Meanwhile Tant and Lois went up the hill at as quick a 
pace as she could travel. The herbage, already stiff with 
gathering rime, rustled under their feet. Neither spoke; 
she was pondering actions, he words. He did not offer her 
the assistance which perhaps she needed but did not ask. 
She had released his cuff, and he kept at the severe distance 
which respect requires from such as him to such as her ; 
and that, not reckoning fractions, whose lean misery I 
never could bear, is thirty-three inches by day and at least 
six more by night. If he could have had her once more in 
his arms, he would have flown and never felt the ground ; 
if he might have led her but by the hand again, he could 
have run and never tired. But he let her spend her breath, 
and never offered the help which she did not ask. She only 
stopped, breathless, when they were under the shadow of 
the oak whose judge-like imminence had before affrighted 
her. But she did not know it was the same oak. Then 
he said : 

“ If ’twere for yoursen, ma’am, ’twas for summat ; if 
’twere anyhow for me ’twas for noat, and less than noat.” 

u I durstn’t come slower,” she panted. 

Her quick breath made a little mist about her face. His 
voice was tremulous, as at a parting. 

“ One thanks for two lives seems too poor a market ; and 
two thanks is nubbut two words more.” 

“ You forget you saved mine, Mr. Rideout, and at a far 
greater risk.” 

“ Being there was no merit o’ mine ; I’m ashamed on’t, 
ashamed on’t.” 


LOIS’S PRISONER 


223 

K But what you did being there, was there no merit in 
that ? ” 

“ No, for I couldn’t ha’ done different.” 

u It seems to me that is a merit.” 

u Ma’am, if yo’re bent on being kind who can dispute it 
wi’ yer ? ” 

Lois felt herself being worsted in this debate of grati- 
tudes, which she suddenly closed with a u Please say no 
more ; I don’t.” 

“Yo’ve the raight to bid, ma’am, and I won’t say no 
more.” 

u What are you going to do ? Have you any plans ? ” 

u Afore daybreak I ought to be thirty mile on the road to 
Boston.” 

“ Have you money for your requirements ? ” 

u Plenty, ma’am.” 

If so his requirements were few and small, for he had 
but a shilling in his pockets. They proceeded until they 
were under the thick shadow of the house-end. Caution 
softened her voice to a whisper : 

“ Can’t I do something more for you ? ” 

“ No, ma’am ; there’s no need.” 

“ Good-bye then.” 

He bared his head. In that deep shade he must have 
understood by some other sense than sight that she was 
holding out her hand. He enfolded it fora moment or two 
in the large gentleness of his own. That their hands 
could not be seen, only felt, made more of an ordinary 
courtesy. She had never been so little afraid of him. 
Above them the stars gleamed frostily. Suddenly out of the 
apparently vacant firmament there sounded just overhead 
a strange wild cry, a hoarse scream. Lois was startled, she 
retained the hand she was releasing. 

“ What is that ? ” she said. 


224 


FOREST FOLK 


u It’s wild geese gooing south.” 

She still retained his hand while she whispered : 

u You’re a brave man and to spare, Mr. Rideout; oh, if 
you were only a good one ! ” 

w I’ve made a bad hand o’ the first end o’ my life, the 
rest on’t’s yourn, ma’am.” 

u No, your sisters’ you mean.” 

“ There’s noat to divide. Poor Nell ! ” 

Lois shivered ; she had been heated by her haste and felt 
the cold the more. 

“Well, I wish you farewell, and a safe What’s 

that ? ” 

The sound of more than one horse could be heard com- 
ing up the field-way a little to the rear of them. The 
terror lest Tant should be taken returned upon her. 

“ Where shall you hide from them ? ” she said. 

“ I’ the night. It’s a large hiding-place and a good un.” 

The horses were evidently coming directly towards 
them. Tant did not move; but what she thought irreso- 
lution was merely reluctance. 

“Oh fly! Fly somewhere! Fly quick!” she ex- 
claimed, yet compressing her agitation to a whisper. 

He had hardly bestirred himself when a bold clever 
thought came to her, half begotten of the frostiness of the 
night, half of the nearing chink of spur and bridle. 

“ Stop ! Follow me ! ” she said. 

Tant followed her. She led him to the smaller western 
window of the parlour. 

“ Stay by this window,” she said. 

She flew round the house, and in a moment as it seemed 
opened the window from the inside. 

“ Come in,” she whispered. 

He held back. 

“ What does this mean, ma’am ? ” 


LOIS’S PRISONER 


225 


“ First come in.” 

He entered. She heard the rimy rustle of the grass 
under horses’ hooves. She closed the window and fastened 
it with as much noise as she could make. 
u Now you can’t go back.” 

“ Not while yo stan’ i’ th’ road.” 

“ I stand out of it, and still you can’t. Come.” 

So peremptory was her whisper, he could not but obey. 
He followed her to the door of the room. From the back 
premises Arthur’s voice was audible giving loud orders to 
the stable-boy. He followed her across the hall, and com- 
pelled by her up the carpeted stairs. For all his large frame 
and thick shoes he trod almost as softly as the lady did. 
Up the stairs and down a long dark passage she led him 
until she stopped by a door which she opened. 

“ I’ God’s name,” he whispered, “ what’s your inten- 
tion, ma’am ? ” 

u That you should sleep in our spare bedroom to-night. 
It’s the last place where you will be sought.” 

“ I’m afeard this’ll get yer into trouble.” 

“ Can they ” — with low reluctance came the word — “ can 
they hang me for it ? ” 

u I don’t know as they can ; but ” 

“Well then!” 

She transferred the key from the inside to the outside of 
the door. Arthur’s passage from the kitchen through hall 
to parlour could be heard, other feet and another voice ac- 
companying his. All the more the fugitive had to bend 
head and speak low. 

“ Why will yer, why will yer ? ” 

“ Because I will. Isn’t that reason enough ? ” 

“ Nobody has a better raight to reason a that how. And 

ft 


yet 


226 


FOREST FOLK 


cc Don’t be afraid ; the bed’s perfectly aired ; I always 
keep it so — for such occasions as this.” 

u Many a time I’ve slept on ling and bracken.” 

u How could you ? ” 

She gave a little shudder; she seemed to feel the starry 
lonesomeness of the night. 

“ I dunno, I dunno,” he said with a pondering whisper. 
“ Maybe becos the roof shuts the stars out and meks the 
moon gie more shadder than shine.” 

The just felt touch of a little hand irresistibly compelled 
him over the threshold of the room. 

“You’re my prisoner now. Good-night, Mr. Rideout.” 

u I wish a prayer — a prayer o’ mine — but what manner 
o’ good could it do yo ? ” 

“Just try, Mr. Rideout.” 

She closed the door, and softly locking it withdrew the 
key. He thought of the key that but for her might have 
turned upon him that night, and on the instant he was on 
his knees fulfilling her behest ; while she went down to her 
brother. He had brought a guest with him, a farmer in a 
uniform, that Mr. Archer whom Lois had already addressed, 
honest, hearty and middle-aged. Lois smiled sweetly on 
him as she welcomed him, and asked how they had suc- 
ceeded in their business. 

“We’ve succeeded in letting a criminal escape,” said 
Arthur, who did not seem in a very good humour. 

“ I’m glad we hae,” said Mr. Archer; “ I don’t call this 
sort o’ rot-hunting sport. Anyhow it een’t a proper job 
for volunteer sojers. If sojers they want, let ’em call out 
the paid reg’lars ; there’s plenty on ’em at Nottingham do- 
ing noat for their living. And if there is anybody wants 
routing out o’ this parish it’s Ben Foat hissen. I shouldn’t 
mind lendin’ a hand to that.” 

“ Who is Ben Foat ? ” asked Lois. 


LOIS’S PRISONER 


227 


“ The man as laid the information again Tant, miss. A 
man as hes a good many trades, and the honestest un is 
what ’e speaks most about an’ practises least.” 

Tant was not again mentioned until the farmer had eaten 
and gone. Arthur’s moodiness had been worn off by the 
necessity to play the hospitable host ; he spoke to his sister 
quite kindly, though gravely. 

M I wish, Lois, that this obligation of yours — of ours — 
was to a better man.” 

“It may be right, Arthur, for you to say so; I hardly 
think you’d like me to feel so.” 

“ I hope at any rate it will be the last obligation of the 
kind, and this our last opportunity of making a similar re- 
turn for it. I won’t again violate my public duty for a 
private satisfaction.” 

“ It would not have been like you to do otherwise, 
Arthur.” 

“ For goodness’ sake don’t admire me for it,” he said 
with a relapse into testiness. “Well, I hope he has had the 
sense to get clear off. The pursuit has been relinquished 
for the night, but in the morning it will be both keen and 
persistent.” 

“ With your assistance ? ” 

Arthur made a grimace. 

“ I think not. I like Archer prefer the ordinary kind of 
c rot-hunting.’ Still it would be just as well for Mr. Tant 
Rideout to keep out of my way.” 

“ If he doesn’t, you must keep out of his.” 

“ I make no promise.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 

After Arthur had gone forth on the following morning 
to do his round of the farm, and the cook was busy cook- 
ing and the dairy-maid churning, then Lois took up her 
prisoner’s breakfast in the concealment of her work-basket. 
As she handed it through the door the face she presented to 
him was pale and harassed, his on the contrary being brisk, 
fresh and confident. 

“ Are you ill, ma’am ? ” he asked anxiously. 

“ No, but I have not slept. I hope you have been more 
successful.” 

u I don’t know what ’tis not to sleep when I want to 
sleep. It moot make a long dawling business o’ th’ dark. 
But one thing’s sartain, ma’am, if yo can’t sleep becos I’m 
i’ th’ house, I moan’t keep yer awake another night.” 

M That’s as I shall rule ; you’re my prisoner, you 
know.” 

And with a parting peep of fun from dark eyes which 
were seldom grave for long together, she drew the door be- 
tween them and locked it. 

About an hour later she seized an opportunity to steal 
up-stairs bearing in a maund materials for making a coal fire. 

“I have decided,” she whispered to him as soon as he 
came to the door, “that you are to stay where you are for 
a few nights, unless you find your lodgings uncomfortable. 
They are making furious search for you in the neighbour- 
hood and it won’t be safe for you to travel.” 

“ I shall be a deal o’ trouble to you, ma’am.” 

228 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


229 


cc I’ve reckoned that up and it amounts to nothing like 
so much as if I allowed you to be taken. I don’t mean 
you to be nipped with cold.” She produced the basket of 
coal and kindling. “This room has a common chimney- 
shaft with the one beneath it. We seldom use it, but I 
have had a fire made there on the pretext of airing it. 
That will prevent the smoke from being remarked by day, 
and you shall have dark curtains to screen the light by 
night. I’ve been thinking you perceive.” 

“ I’ th’ night ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

lt Thank yer, ma’am, though I’d liefer a deal yo’d slept. 
And there’s no need for’t, no need at all. I’m never co’d 
out o’ doors, seldom i’ the house.” 

“ But it’s cold, bitterly cold.” 

He held out his great hand. She understood he would 
have her touch it, so the tips of two of her fingers, cold 
though but fresh from the fire, rested for a moment on his 
warm palm and slipped away. 

“ I’m like to be a sore trouble to yer, ma’am. I can see 
Nell from the winder; she’s i’ Freeman’s Cluss wi’ White- 
foot and Tidy, rolling the land I ought to be rolling.” 

“ I will let her know you’re in safety.” 
u She’ll thank yer.” 

So presently from the window he saw her trip scarlet- 
mantled across the rimy fields towards the Low Farm. He 
saw her meet her brother on the nearer headland of the 
close of wheat, more white than green, but of course he 
could not hear what she said to him. 

“Which is the way to Freeman’s Cluss, Arthur? ” 

“ How do you know that Miss Rideout is there ? ” 

“ How do you know, if I may ask instead of 
answering ? ” 

“ I have seen her.” 


230 


FOREST FOLK 


“ And I — I haven’t. Don’t our reasons balance beauti- 
fully like a brother’s and a sister’s ? And now the way 
please to Freeman’s Cluss.” 

w Who taught you to call it c Freeman’s Cluss ’ ? ” 

“ I’m afraid I’m in an unanswering mood this morning. 
Pray attribute it to this ungenerous contracting sort of 
weather, and ask me again when the thermometer rises.” 

“Yonder is Freeman’s Close — you can hardly see it from 
here — on the left hand of that dead oak-tree.” 

“ Are there any live cows ? ” 

u There are some steers in the ” 

u Steers ? Don’t tell me about steers, they’re all cows.” 
She clutched her brother by the arm. “ Now do see me 
safe past them, there’s a dear. And there’s Paradise-pud- 
ding for dinner.” 

“ The inducement is irresistible.” 

He escorted her safely past the steers in Three Furlongs, 
over the stepping-stones of the beck and through the grass- 
land on the other side, where some cows were grazing ; but 
he stopped at the gate to Freeman’s Close. Nell was not 
far off, side-faced to them, plodding behind the cumber- 
some machine ; her voice reached them as loud and shrill 
as a peewheep’s curbing Tidy and stimulating Whitefoot. 
They stood awhile looking over the gate at her. Her dress 
was modified from that in which Arthur had first seen her. 
The old smock-frock had been exchanged for a plaid shawl, 
black and blue and green, crossed over her breast and 
pinned behind. She still kept the thick-soled shoes and 
gaiters, but on her head she wore a woman’s calico hood, 
blue-sprigged, which only gave her mouth and eyes to those 
who exactly faced her. 

“What do you suppose I’m thinking about ? ” said Lois. 
Now Arthur had not been supposing anything but he 
immediately answered with pricked-up readiness : 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


231 


“ About frocks and bonnets.” 

“Remotely. I was thinking how ridiculous I should 
look behind those horses and that big thing.” 

“You would.” 

“ But I couldn’t imagine Miss Rideout looking inade- 
quate anywhere. Could you ? ” 

“ In bulk do you mean ? ” 

“I won’t talk to you.” 

He opened the gate for her. 

“ Shan’t you come too ? ” 

“No, I decline to join your conspiracy.” 

“ But you won’t help to mar it, Arthur ? ” 

“ I make no promise.” 

“I do for you; that’s half the labour; now you’ve only 
got to keep it. Wait for me. Those cows you know. 
And I’ve my red cloak on.” 

So she called back turning thrice as she tripped over the 
rough clods. Arthur having nothing better to do watched 
her until she came up with Nell on the far side of the 
close, and then he watched them both. When Lois was 
still twenty yards off, their eyes met and she called out 
eagerly : 

“ Don’t be alarmed ! All’s well ! ” 

Then she glanced up and down the adjacent road to see 
if anybody were within hearing. Nell left her horses and 
came to meet her. 

“All’s well, Miss Rideout,” she said again as they got 
within speaking distance ; “ for the present. I promised to 
let you know. I can’t stop; Arthur is waiting for me, and 
he’s so fearfully impatient. And the Paradise-pudding 
would spoil.” 

Nell nodded in womanly tolerance of masculine frailty. 
Lois’s eyes seemed only to see her; hers besides the little 
eager creature in front of her took in the cloddy rimy field 


232 


FOREST FOLK 


— beneath every clod there was a little gleam of white — the 
bare trees and hedges, Arthur at the gate, and the long low 
hill beyond, here brown, there dimly verdant. She looked 
wearily pale, whereas Lois’s usually colourless face was 
flushed with excitement and the exercise. 

“ When did yo leave him ? ” 
u About half-an-hour ago.” 

Nell looked surprised. 
w Where is he ? ” 

M I’ll tell you. Can you see High House ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

w Can you see a bedroom window in the gable on the 
other side of the chimney-stack ? ” 

u Easy.” Then her paleness became a little paler and 
she said, “ I think I can see somebody.” 

Lois gave a little laugh. 

“Your eyes are better than mine,” she said. 
u Not to look at.” 

Nell’s eyes fell to the eyes she spoke of and dwelt on 
them briefly in grateful admiration; then returned to the 
window. 

w He can see uz too. I wish I could gie him a signal ; 
but who knows who’s on the watch ? Yo mootn’t bide 
here ayther, Miss Skrene \ for that same reason.” 

Nell walked back with her across the field. 

“Tell him to keep wide o’ the winder. Other folk hae 
eyes besides me, folk as would mek their fortunes by seeing 
him ; and the most I could gain’s a suit o’ black wi’ my 
own money.” 

They had drawn near enough to Arthur to tell when his 
eyes were on their faces, when on the coming of their feet, 
and when on a kestrel which now hovered high in the air, 
now dropped plumb as a spider on its thread and hovered 
again. 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


2 33 


u Does your brother know o’ this ? ” asked Nell. 
u Not yet. But if I don’t tell him before he finds 


“ Ay ? ” 

“ I shall soon after.” 

Nell stopped, though she had given no sign of being 
about to stop. 

“ I mun goo back to 'my hosses,” she said. “Tell Tant 
nubbut this : so to manage as yo don’t loase your labour.” 

Her grey eyes dwelt a little on the dark ones uplifted to 
hers before she added : 

“A bad wish has just corned into my mind.” 

“ What sort of a bad wish ? ” 

“ That yo might be in trouble yoursen. Good-mornin’.” 

She turned abruptly and strode back to Tidy’s impatience 
and the unexpectant waiting of Whitefoot. Before Lois 
reached her brother she could hear her across the field : 

“ Gee then, Whitefoot ! Steady, Tidy, steady ! ” 

“Well, what had Miss Rideout to say to you ?” said 
Arthur once the peril of the cows was passed and that of 
the steers yet a field off. 

“ She gave me a message to her brother.” 

“ And how shall you deliver it ? ” 

With upturned eyes, saucily sidelong, she answered : 

“ By post.” 

She wrote Nell’s message on a sheet of paper as soon as 
might be after her return, and posted it by pushing it with 
a tiny rustling under Tant’s door. She found no opportu- 
nity for again visiting him until it was dark. At the same 
time he took his basket of provisions and whispered : 

“I suld think it a shame if I didn’t.” 

“ Is there anything more you need ? ” 

“ Six yards o’ rope to equal the stress o’ thirteen stun.” 

“ What do you want it for? ” 


234 


FOREST FOLK 


But even while she asked her too active imagination 
made a horrible suggestion. The floor seemed to open un- 
der her with the yawning suddenness of a hangman’s drop. 
With an almost breathless “ Oh ! ” she made a dizzy clutch 
at safety, and had the blind good fortune to lay hold of 
Tant’s strong arm. His other strong arm brought round 
quickly to her waist thought nothing of her weight, but his 
fear was a staggering burden. It was his first acquaintance 
with nerves less steady at what they do not see than at 
what they see. 

“ What hae I said ? ” he cried too loudly. “ What shall 
I do ? ” 

u Sh ! ” she faintly hissed, not too far gone for caution. 

There was a foot on the stairs, one of the maids’. The 
voice of real danger put out the suggestive whisper. 
She pushed his arm from her, quietly closed the door, and 
rustled by Mary on the landing. The dim passing candle- 
light told nothing of the fear which was present or the fear 
which had gone. 

But at the tea-table Arthur could not but notice her pale 
face and want of appetite. He threatened her with the 
doctor and a return to Retford. She protested that there 
was no need, that she was decidedly better, that she ate so 
little at tea because she had eaten so much at dinner, that 
she was hungry even then ; in proof whereof she pro- 
ceeded to make a strenuous mouse’s nibble at a bit of thin 
bread-and-butter. 

“To put it in short,” retorted Arthur, “it would be in- 
convenient to your plot to leave home at present.” 

“ I don’t know what plot you mean.” 

“ Neither do I.” 

“ I’m not in any plot.” 

“ I’m glad to hear it.” 

“ Should you like to know about it ? ” 


HIDE-AND-SEEK 


235 

She bent over the table, bringing her head within a plot- 
ting distance of his waistcoat. 

“No.” 

“Then you just shan’t.” 

She felt a real need to talk it over with somebody — 
probably it would have improved her appetite for bread-and- 
butter — and if Arthur had been willing to accept her relief 
as a favour to himself he should have had it at that price. 
But now she leant back in her chair and sulked good- 
naturedly and made no pretence of eating. Arthur finished 
his meal meditatively, and after he had swallowed his last 
mouthful put the sum of his cogitation into words. 

“ I wonder how it is a good woman always gets inter- 
ested in a scamp.” 

“ Are you asking me ? ” 

“ If you’ve an answer for me.” 

u I don’t know about always. You see I’m seven years 
younger than you.” 

“ Well, assuming that ‘always’ means just seventeen 
years and five months.” 

w If you mean me by a good woman ” 

M I do, Loie.” 

“And if by a scamp you mean Mr. Rideout ” 

“ I do.” 

“ And if by being interested you mean — anything ” 

“ Again I do.” 

“ I hadn’t finished. Anything but a natural grati- 
tude ” 

“ That or any other of the virtues, Loie.” 

She rose and went across to her spinnet ; logically sym- 
bolic perhaps of a slight shifting of her position. 

“ Arthur, I’d only seen Mr. Rideout four times before 
yesterday.” 

“ You don’t say how many times since.” 


236 


FOREST FOLK 


“You don’t ask. Only four times, before yesterday, 
and three out of the four I’m afraid he was more or less 
tipsy.” 

u On the fourth being locked up from the possibility of 
getting tipsy. A rare record ! ” 

u For all that I don’t allow he’s a scamp, absolutely.” 
u Did all that strong liquor go to him or did he go to 
it ? ” 

There was no answer to that and Arthur showed by his 
rising that he expected none. 

u Anyhow he’s well known to be the most reckless dare- 
devil for ten miles round, and the country would be very 
well rid of him. So ” — he was already at the door — “ I 
hope your plot will be a short one.” 
w And a successful ? ” 

The question barely overtook him between door and 
jamb, and he did not turn and answer it. 

Later in the evening Lois took Tant the six yards of 
rope which he required. Giving it to him she said: 

“ But you remember you’re my prisoner ? ” 

“ Ay.” 

And scamp as he might be, dare-devil as he was, she felt 
she could trust his monosyllabic sincerity. 


CHAPTER XXII 


OUT BY THE WINDOW 

The rope Tant knotted into nooses at intervals of about 
a yard, so contriving a rude ladder out of it. He made 
one end fast to his bedstead, and about midnight as nearly 
as he could judge by the long stillness and deep darkness, 
for there were no stars to reckon by, he quietly opened the 
window and let himself down by it. How sweet the out- 
side of the house seemed to him ! For an hour or two he 
could do nothing but exercise his legs and breathe the free 
air, raw wet night air though it was, full of a fine drizzle. 
Or perhaps the wide circuit he made was partly in caution, 
partly out of mere delight in motion and the ample dark- 
ness. Anyhow it was by way of Ear Baulker, Sansom 
Wood and the elm of Langton Arbour, that he got round 
nigh on two o’clock to his great-grandmother’s cottage at 
the Bottoms. 

It was a tiny dwelling with but one exit, that to the 
road, and but one room on the ground, though the floor 
above was divided into two sleeping-places. From the 
upper casement a light dimly peered at Spettigew’s dark 
cottage opposite. Stealthily he opened the unlocked door, 
entered the house, crossed the room and looked up the 
crooked stairs. A faint broken light came through his 
grandmother’s half-open door. He whispered Nell’s name. 
If she were sleeping she was sleeping lightly for she an- 
swered immediately. Tant barred the outer door and went 
up to the little back compartment in which she lay. He 
stood beside the bed and held a low-voiced conversation 

237 


FOREST FOLK 


238 

with her. He had to stoop his head because of the slant 
ceiling in which the little sky-light was as a black blot. 
The only light struggled in by the door from the great- 
grandmother’s room, and it was a light that showed 
nothing. 

u Why did yo come ? ” asked Nell. 

“To stretch my legs and tongue, maybe.” 

“Yo mootn’t stop; both housen are being watched ; I 
think they suspect yo hain’t travelled far from home.” 

“ How’s gret-granmam ? ” 

“ She’ll never rise no more. She’d been forever getting 
out o’ bed and falling down till yesterday. Then she fell 
and hurt hersen. I scolded her for’t, and she said, c It’s 
the last time ; ’ she lay down quietly and has hardly stirred 
sin.” 

“ Do you know who spouted again me ? ” 

“I wain’t tell; yo’d be doing summat rash.” 

“No, lass; I’ve took lately to thinking afore I act. 
Not too soon nayther. I mind your message. But I’ve a 
suspicion, and a suspicion that een’t fast tickles me like a 
loose hair.” 

“ It were Ben Foat.” 

“ I tho’t as much ; he’s an unstayable chap. I could do 
wi’ a clean shirt and stockings and my best clo’es.” 

“ What for ? ” 

He gave a little laugh. 

“ I’m visiting some o’ the bettermost people, yo know, 
and to-morrer’s Sunday. Yo could hide ’em in the oad 
haystack unner some loose hay. Put the knife on the top.” 

“ All raight. To think as a teeny timorsome cratur like 
her suld dare to do’t ! ” 

“She’s timorsome just as a high-mettled filly is timor- 
some, that’ll scaddle away from a leaf and if need be 
scamper up to a cannon.” 


OUT BY THE WINDOW 


239 


u I think Mr. Skrene ought to know.” 

“ The lady’ll do what’s raight.” 
w I’m talking o’ what yo ought to do.” 
u I’m afeard o’ putting my hand in’t ; it’s such a big 
un.” 

u The more shame if yo keep it i’ your pocket. Now 
goo, yo’ve stayed long enough and to spare. But m’appen 
yo’d like to see the last o’ your gret-granmam ? ” 

Nell rose, slipped on a gown and led him to the adjoin- 
ing room. She snuffed the dim candle which had been 
burning to waste on the table and held it above the bed. 
Partial lights and shadows flickered over the patch-work 
coverlet, over the fleshless hand that lay outside and 
pinched it, over the white death-stricken face. The dame 
lay with half-shut eyes breathing in slow pants. A wisp 
of white hair straggled across the white forehead. Nell 
pushed it tenderly back under the white nightcap. When 
Tant spoke to his ancestress she blinked her white eyelids 
and mumbled something, as one might through the close 
rifts of a dream. 

“What’s that ? ” whispered Tant. 
u It’s like somebody trying the door.” 
u I’ve made it.” 

w Then they’ll know yo’re here ; I alius leave it so’s 
Hannah Spettigew can coom in i’ th’ mornin’.” 

u Yo’d better put the clo’es unner the second sheep- 
trough on the tunnips. And my razor. Now goo down 
and look out. If anybody’s theer let ’em in, but mek a 
to-do as if yo were fo’ced. Tek the candle wi’ yer.” 

Nell descended and having set the candle down softly 
opened the door like one who is cautious against surprise. 
She stood inside the sill, and putting head and shoulders 
forth looked up and down the road. On either side of the 
door she saw a motionless something. She drew back and 


240 


FOREST FOLK 


banged it to with a haste that was not all feigned. But 
before she could secure it she felt the rude strength of 
hands applied outwardly. 

tc Thieves ! Who are yo ? Thieves ! What d’yer 
want ? ” she said dividing her voice between a cry and the 
colloquial pitch. 

Her assailants did not waste breath in replying ; they 
continued to push their way in with a joint strength, 
gaining admission of a toe, a whole shoe, a man’s shoulder. 
Then when their success was assured and they were 
cramming all their force into a final shove, Nell suddenly 
withdrew her resistance. Two men, tripped up by the 
sill, sprawled inwards over the floor upsetting the table in 
their fall ; but it was Nell’s foot that extinguished the 
candle. At that moment Tant dropped from the casement 
above into the road. He would have got clear away but a 
man had run across from Spettigew’s house, very like the 
thick-set shadow of Spettigew himself, and at the instant 
of his fall put his arms about him. 

u I’ve copped ’im ! ’E’s here ! ” he shouted. 

The men within sprang to the issue. But Nell had 
pushed the door to again, the sneck was not handy to find 
in the dark ; when it was groped for and found, it gave 
small purchase for a lusty pull, and Nell’s shoe aided by an 
inequality in the rudely-paved floor made sufficient resist- 
ance. She received a heavy blow in the body together 
with a “ Out the road, yo drotted cat ! ” but she held by a 
hook that was in the door and kept her ground. 

u In the King’s name ! ” said another voice. u I’m 
White the constable.” 

Up the road she heard Tant’s whistle announcing es- 
cape. 

u Yo might ha’ said so afore,” said Nell and let them 
through. 


OUT BY THE WINDOW 


241 


They found the shape like Spettigew sitting in the midst 
of the road half dazed from a heavy back-fall over Tant’s 
thigh, and unable to tell them so much as the way the 
fugitive had taken. But he jerked forth: 

“ Why didn’t yer coom whilst I had ’im ? ” 

w Why didn’t yo keep holt while we coom’d ? ” roughly 
retorted one of the two. 

u Keep holt ? I did keep holt as long as I could. 
What were yo a-doin’ on ? ” 

u She wouldn’t let uz in,” said the constable. 

“Yo didn’t want to be in.” 

cc She wouldn’t let uz out,” said the other. 

“ Ben Foat, yo don’t frame like addlin’ no fifty pound, 
not yo.” 

“ I’d liever hae truck wi’ any man,” said Ben, u nor wi’ 
a huzzy like her.” 

“ It wasn’t hardly creditable how she fo’t an’ striv,” said 
the constable. 

u Damn the witch ! ” said Spettigew. u It’s her again; 
it’s alius her ! But I’ll be even wi’ ’er yit, see if I don’t.” 

While the men were thus coming round from mutual 
reproach to agreement in feminine dispraise, Tant was 
lurking hard by among the shadows of the road. He was 
still there when the constable and the informer came by, 
having taken short leave of Spettigew at his door. Tom 
White turned towards Blidworth, Foat kept on for Fish- 
pool, and Tant chose to follow the latter. He did not 
always follow either ; sometimes he walked abreast or a 
little ahead on one or the other side of the road ; the mar- 
ginal grass gave so soft a footing, and the air laden with a 
misty rain, which seemed rather to float than fall, was like 
a veil between what saw and what was seen. Once Foat, 
whose legs were none too steady, suddenly swerved so from 
the middle of the way as to bring him within a yard of his 


242 


FOREST FOLK 


shadower. Tant stood aside. He was mightily minded to 
strike an end-all blow; the dastardly accomplice-informer 
was at his mercy, as he himself might come to be at the 
pitiless mercy of the law ; he clenched his fist till the 
muscles were strained tight ; his face was invisible. But 
the blow was not struck, the man passed, the tension of 
mood and muscle was relaxed. 

Still Tant attended his betrayer like his dog, sometimes 
a little before, sometimes a little behind. Further on where 
the road gives a sharp bend, there was then a spreading 
elder growing. Foat took the turn so abruptly that the 
men were again within arm’s reach of each other, under 
the concealment of the tree’s dripping boughs. Tant’s 
former homicidal revengeful impulse was replaced — he was 
a being of quick changes — by a sudden Puckish freak, 
merely mischievous. With one hand he drew down a 
moist branch, bringing its twigs into dead-finger-like con- 
tact with Ben’s face ; and at the same moment with his 
other hand he directed from his own mouth full into Ben’s 
ear such a “ Wow!” as never issued from mortal tom-cat’s 
throat under stress either of love or the duel. 

Ben was shot to the other side of the way without voli- 
tion, as by outside enginery. There sufficiently recovering 
to feel the need of courage, he gave vent to a round dozen 
of oaths, trivial perhaps in form but heart-felt in tone, 
against cats and that cat. He stooped moreover, groped 
for a stone, found one and hurled it at a futile venture; 
then walked on in the midst of the road. But his nerves 
were manifestly shaken ; he walked faster, kicked more 
stones, often looked over his shoulder. Tant was delighted 
with his exploit, both as a piece of wild justice and as 
mere fun and mischief. He took the next chance of im- 
proving on it, but it was not until they were among the 
houses of the hamlet of Fishpool. The bulging wall of 


OUT BY THE WINDOW 


243 


Hemington’s little cottage was supported by a dispropor- 
tionate buttress. He lay in wait behind it, and when Ben 
passed again let him have it in the ear. One ear-splitting 
“Wow!” Then silence. It was diabolic. Ben gave a 
gasp of terror that left him no breath to swear with, and 
started off at a run. His house was at a short distance, a 
hut of two rooms, standing detached in a garden. When 
Tant came up Ben was within-doors ; he could hear him 
nervously chipping away at a flint trying to get a light, and 
rapping his own knuckles as often as not. Tant put his 
mouth to the keyhole and uttered a low long-drawn “Wow 
— ow — ow” of feline disappointment. The man dropped 
steel and flint, bolted up-stairs, sprang upon his wife, who 
was sleeping, and roughly shook her. 

“ What the devil are yer sleeping for, woman ? ” he cried 
hoarsely. 

“ Why the devil suldn’t I sleep ? ” said his wife. “ Yo’ve 
pretty nigh scarred me out o’ my wits, yo crack-pot. ” 

The friendly insult seemed somewhat to restore his 
spirits; his next speech was less agitated in tone. 

“ Didn’t yo hear that d d cat ? ” 

“What cat ? I don’t lig awake to listen to cats. Yo’ve 
bin muggin’ too much at the Lay Cross ; that’s what yo’ve 
bin doin’. Coom into bed wi’ yer, do. And mark my 
words ; yo’ll hae to stop at home to-morrer or yo’ll be 
haein’ a fit o’ the blue devils ; that’s what yo’ll be haein’.” 

These words gave Tant listening under the window a 
sudden thought, which like a crystallising flutter imme- 
diately froze his whim into a purpose. He went softly 
away, and making a much smaller circuit than at his com- 
ing returned by the gorse-clad slopes of the Assart in safety 
to his hiding-place. 

We may suppose that his purpose grew in the night, for 
at his next seeing Lois he begged her to let him have a 


244 


FOREST FOLK 


bowl of stiff wheaten paste, some strips of linen, and a 
dozen of the largest and stoutest sheets of paper she could 
procure. She took him up what he desired, including some 
tough brown paper which had been used for packing. 
Whereof he was occupied throughout the day in fashion- 
ing a strong tube about five yards long and an inch and a 
half in bore, but widening into a mouthpiece at the lower 
end ; and so strengthened with cross bands of linen as to 
be able to bear more than its own weight; such a thing as 
he had made once before for some Christmas foolery. Lois 
stole up again in the evening and was curious to know 
what he had been at. Those occasional short-whispered 
communications through a half-opened door, his head down 
and hers up, had necessarily somewhat of the character of 
confidences. Tant put the small end of his tube out and 
invited her to take hold of it. It was so dark that she 
could not see what it was, besides speaking-tubes were not 
then so common nor so well understood as now. Imme- 
diately she heard a voice close by, low but distinct and 
pitched like a woman’s: 

w Ha, ha ! I know where you’ve hidden him.” 

She started and dropped the tube in fear of it. Then 
realising that somehow or other she had been duped, she 
shut the door and went away, feeling a little hurt, a little 
angry. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


AN UNQUIET NIGHT 

In the dead of the night Tant again went forth by his 
rope-ladder taking the paper-tube with him. It was dark 
and cloudy, but the rain had spent its feeble will. He went 
across the fields between Blidworth and the Bottoms 
straight for Ben Foat’s. All was dark at the Bottoms ex- 
cept for one spark of light, which he knew to be from his 
great-grandmother’s chamber-window. Half-an-hour of 
his easy long-striding gait brought him to Fishpool. Ben 
was at home and asleep ; the duetto snore of himself and 
wife was audible without. The bedroom casement was 
almost within touch of a man of Tant’s stature. Thrust- 
ing with his tube against the tiny ill-leaded diamond-shaped 
panes, he found one which gave way with little resistance 
to the thrust, and fell with a tiny tinkle on the plaster floor 
within. Through the aperture he pushed the tube into the 
room until it touched the low ceiling, where he judged that 
its orifice would be over Ben’s bed. Then he put his lips 
to the mouthpiece and let off" a volley of high-pitched mews. 
Ben started up, the bed creaked under him ; his wife 
awoke. Higher and higher swelled the infernal caterwaul- 
ing, note linked to ascending note by shrieking appoggiatura, 
melody such as the maddest cat could only dream of, end- 
ing in a felo-satanic squeal. Ben cursed the cat’s eyes, but 
only to keep his courage up ; his wife cursed its liver, but 
with perfect sincerity. From the height of the ceiling just 
over their heads came a small-throated voice between cat’s 
and woman’s, low but horribly distinct : 

245 


246 


FOREST FOLK 


u I’m not a cat.” 

Man and wife clutched one another. 

u I’m a devil.” 

Man and wife dived under the bedclothes fighting 
frantically for the blankets as the drowning fight for air. 

w Wow, wow ! Ss, ssss ! Wow-ow ! ” 

“ Goo an" get a light,” said the man in a blanket-stuffed, 
fear-throttled voice. 

“ Yo’d goo yersen if yo war a man,” said the woman in 
tones unwomaned by terror. 

“If you do I nab you. Wow-ow-ow !” 

And so the diabolic voice again went off into a crescendo 
of cat-song. The couple, smothered under the blankets, 
prayed and swore and confessed their sins in the same breath. 

M Devil tek it ! Lord a marcy, Lord a marcy ! I’ll let 
Clark hae his hand-bill back to-morrer. Lord, I on’y 
borrered it.” 

u Our Fayther, chart in ’eaven. D n the thing, it’s 

awful, awful ! I’ll be good, I’ll be good ! Forever an’ 
ever, Amen ! Lord, what a unchristian beast ! ” 

u It’ll be my death ! this’ll be my death ! Lord, I con- 
fess I warn’t jannocky about that hafe-crown. Lord, 
Sam’s bitch won. But, Lord, mine’s as good as hisn. Oh, 
by gash, what a ran-tan ! No, Lord, it een’t; I tell no 
lig, I’d back hisn again mine any day.” 

“ Stop the cratur, Lord, stop the cratur ! do! It’s coomin’ 
nigher ! I will be good, that I will. From to-morrer 
n’ ’enceforth n’ evermore. I’ll not be nigly about pew- 
rent ; I’ll hae noat to say to Dick no more, niver ! Amen, 
swelp me.” 

“ Yo trolly ! it’s the fust word I’ve heerd o’ that.” 

“Don’t trolly me. Think o’ yer own sins, yo swine. 
D’yer think I hain’t heerd o’ Fan an’ who’s ’er fancy ? 
Mebbe others above uz knows too.” 


AN UNQUIET NIGHT 247 

The voice, which had been dying away in thin long- 
drawn cat-pathos, suddenly flared up again into shrill 
menace. 

M Oh law, oh law ! Don’t keep natterin’ again me, man. 
Pike out summat o’ your own faults. Save yer own soul 
an’ leave mine to heaven marcy, do ! There were that 
scabby trick yo played oad Baxter.” 

u Stosh it, woman ! shurr up ! That were forgot. Lord, 
I’ll own i’stead to what I did again them Wainwrights. If 
yer don’t know what ’tis I’ve gien mysen away. Lord, 
but nubbudy thinks noat to them Wainwrights. An’ Deb 
’elped me.” 

w No, I didn’t. Why need yo bring me in ? Nubbudy 
knowed. Lord, I nubbut parted wi’ the stuff. It on’y 
fetched seven-an’-six, Lord. Lord a massy, Lord a massy ! 
Lord, what’s seven-an’-six to sich as yo ? Forever an’ 
ever. Say amen, yo dalled sluggard.” 

“ Amen. Ugh how I do sweat ! ” 

w I’m all of a moil ! ” 

Suddenly the cat-music ceased when at its highest, cut 
through as at a slash. The twain lay with their heads 
under the blankets, panting, perspiring, afraid to stir hand 
or foot, hardly hoping yet that their prayers had been heard. 
For half-an-hour thus they lay, silent, motionless, wet with 
the ooze of their fear ; until at last stillness and immobility 
became impossible. Ben had to stir hand and foot and 
mutter : 

w I do believe it’s gone.” 

Low but horribly distinct was the response from above 
their heads : 

“ I’ve not gone.” 

“ Oh my gash ! ” 

“I don’t mean to go.” 

“ Law, law ! it’s too bad for oat.” 


248 


FOREST FOLK 


M I’m waiting.” 

w Oh crimy ! ” 

“ Ax what’s it waitin’ for,” growled the man. 

u Ax yersen,” snarled the woman. 

w For Benjamin Foat,” said the voice. 

The man gasped under the blankets. 

“ Oh, Ben, yo’ve gone an’ done summat wicked. An’ 
I’m sufferin’ for’t.” 

“Sufferin’? Yo ? What o’ me? Yo’re all raight ; 
goo an’ get a candle.” 

“You’d better not,” said the voice, so gently that the 
menace was terrific. 

“ Is’t along o’ Tant ? ” asked the woman. 

“ He knows,” answered the voice. 

“ It can’t be,” said Ben, half smothered by blanket, “ it’s 
a Guv’ment reward, and Gen’ral Ludd don’t mek no 
bones.” 

“ Don’t talk so soft ; much they care about your gen’ral.” 

“ They care about the British Guv’ment — or had 
ought.” 

Said the voice, “The day Tant’s fetched you’re fetched. 
While then I’m here, waiting. Now go to sleep.” 

“I can’t stan’ it much longer,” groaned Ben; “ I’m fair 
smothercated, that’s trewth, if iv’rythink else is a lig.” 

“ Yo suld a letten folk alone,” said his wife. 

“ It were yo, yo telled me to.” 

“Me? Niver, niver, mester; don’t think it on me. 
I’ve noat again Tant, noat whativer.” 

“ Nor noat again a fifty pound reward.” 

“ Shut yer gawp ! ” 

“ Pugh ! I’m as ’ot as ’ot.” 

“’Ot’s no word for’t; I’m just swimmin’ in’t.” 

“ Hell’s hotter,” said the quiet felo-feminine voice ; 
which reduced them to perspiring silence. 


AN UNQUIET NIGHT 249 

Tant showed the patience of a curbed impatience, the 
patience of a leopard lying in wait, of a Red Indian on the 
lookout, of a hawk on the hover, of a snake in the grass. 
Hour after hour he remained there through that damp dark 
night with nothing to occupy the intervals but anticipation. 
Every now and then exhausted nature would have its way 
with the Foats ; on the rack men have been known to sleep, 
even under a wife’s tongue ; but so soon as he judged from 
their easier breathing or from the bed ceasing to creak with 
their constrained restlessness, that one or the other of them 
was dozing off, he again raised a loud unpreluded wail. 
Sometimes they started up, both or one of them, as though 
the agony were new, sometimes they groaned and moved 
not ; but no refreshment got either of them that night 
until the anticipatory cocks at the farm began drowsily to 
crow. Then the woman lifted the blanket from her 
mouth, and said faintly : 

“ I’m dead if this lasts much longer. Say as yo’ll pro- 
ceed no furder again Tant.” 

“ That I wain’t,” said Ben. 

“ I don’t believe you,” said the voice. 

“ Drot me if I do.” 

“You’re such a liar.” 

u On’y by nows and thens.” 

u I can’t trust you.” 

“ Swear me on oat,” said Ben with stifled eagerness ; 
u swear me on summat as I can't break.” 

“Well, we’ll see. I’ll give you to-morrow. I shan’t go 
but I’ll go to sleep. Good-night ; pleasant dreams. 
We-ow ! ” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


A QUIET DAY 

As soon as Spettigew had finished his Sunday morning 
breakfast, which was not inconveniently early, he cleaned 
his shoes, put his best frock over his old jacket, and walked 
across the fields to High House. He was a six-day man 
and had no business there, but he had news in the telling 
and discussing of which he would have had many equals, 
many superiors, down in the Bottoms ; whereas he was 
likely to have the advantage over Selby and Wells, over 
Mary and the dairy-maid, who lived further from the 
source. Not that he went therefore in any sort of a hurry ; 
he went as those go whose desires do not outrun their 
heels ; at the pace which the local tongue was agreed to 
call u shaffling,” with a heavy-footed slackness, that is to 
say, both of purpose and action. The morning was fresh 
and cold and clear, but Spettigew pushed his hands as far 
as they would go through the pocket-holes of his frock 
down into his breeches’ pockets, and straightway forgot 
what kind of a morning it was. 

There was the intermittent sound of a bell, which was 
distinct enough when the air was quiet, died away as the 
wind uprose, and anon became faintly audible again as the 
blast slackened ; the slow tolling of one bell, which yet had 
many voices for different ears. For Spettigew its voice 
was as earthy as a clod, and having heard it once he hardly 
heard it again. His hands were warm in his pockets, his 
stomach was fairly filled; his eyes told him whether he trod 
upon unturned stubble or fresh wheat, short fine herbage or 

250 


25 1 


A QUIET DAY 

coarse old fog, which the cattle for the time being sniffed at 
but would tear up with their tongues as the winter hardened. 
Mr. Skrene was in the yard when he entered it, booted and 
spurred for riding. 

“ Fine mornin’, mester,” said Spettigew. u Th’ oad 
witch is dead.” 

u What old witch ? ” 

u Oad Granny Roideout. Died last night just as the 
clock strook twelve. Now she’s wheer sich uns ought to 
be.” 

“ And where’s that, Spettigew ? ” 

“ In hell, mester.” 

It would seem that Mr. Skrene had a little leisure for 
such chatter while he was waiting for his horse. He said : 

“ Hell had need be a roomy place, Spettigew ” 

“ It is that, mester,” said Spettigew in a tone of satis- ' 
faction. 

“ If it’s to be the general waste-souls basket, the place 
to which we consign all whom we dislike or differ from.” 

w There’s room for a good few yit.” 

Wells led forth the horse. 

u Well, now the old lady’s gone you’ll be wanting some- 
body to father your side-aches, backaches and poverty on.” 

“ Nay, mester, nay,” answered Spettigew impressively, 
u we shall ne’er be short of a witch at Blid’orth.” 

“ You are determined on that ? ” 

Skrene had gathered the reins in his left hand, but not 
yet mounted. 

u A witch can’t die wi’out fust passing it on to some- 
body.” 

“ That is so,” said Wells. 

“ What is 4 it ’ ? ” 

“ If I could tell yer,” said Spettigew, 44 I should be a 
witch mysen. Leastways a wiseman.” 


2 5 2 


FOREST FOLK 


w You’re not that, Spettigew,” said the master from the 
altitude of his saddle. 

He rode off, but could hear Spettigew say in a voice 
pitched higher for his benefit: 

“ Folks ’ll be wantin’ to know who’s th’ witch now.” 

“ That they will,” said Wells. 

u I could gie a guess.” 

“Ah?” 

u But we’ll bide and see.” 

Lois was alone in the house. She had given Elizabeth 
and the cook leave of absence to visit the parents of one of 
them at Farnsfield, a neighbouring village; Arthur, not 
knowing that, had ridden off to dine with a farmer friend of 
his at Rufford. Harris and Charley accompanied the maids, 
who started before noon, looking tall in the pattens which 
raised their best shoes above the muddy road. Then Lois 
unlocked Tant’s door. He did not immediately come, 
softly open it and show his face, as heretofore. She began 
to fear she had lost her prisoner ; she repented of her brief 
anger of the previous evening ; she knocked and waited ; 
knocked louder, and louder still. She felt sure the room 
was empty, she pushed the door wide open. She beheld 
Tant in shirt and breeches, looking as though but just 
startled out of sleep ; he had the rope-ladder in his hand, 
and was in the act of unfastening the casement. Hearing 
the door open he turned a desperate face that way. Before 
he could see who confronted him, he had put himself into 
a posture for all-venturing resistance. The man again 
affrighted her. He had his fighting face on, his eyes were 
dreadful, his hair unkempt, his arms prompt for a blow, his 
whole body on the stretch ; he looked terribly tall. She 
shrank back from him repenting that she had let herself be 
left alone. But instantly his aspect changed, as a man does 


when he beholds not what he expects, but what he desires. 
He seemed less as well as less fierce. 

“I’ve frightened yer,” he said remorsefully. u What a 
glomax I am ! But yo’ve alius knocked so soft afore.” 

She had recovered, but not entirely. 

u How I must have startled you ! But you didn’t an- 
swer my tap.” 

“I’ve been a sluggard this morning; I was asleep.” 

“I thought you’d gone.” 

“ I’d gi’en my word.” 

There was a reproach in the gentleness and simplicity of 
it, and Lois felt it. 

u I beg your pardon.” 

“I’ve first and most to beg yourn, ma’am.” 

He disappeared behind the door, and Lois went down 
again carrying his breakfast with her. The dish of grilled 
chops was already cold. She felt as she set it on the 
kitchen table, that she owed him amends both for her 
doubt and the spoiling of his meal. Her heart beat. She 
had got over her fear — at least that fear — but still her heart 
beat. A thought had occurred to her coming down-stairs, 
so suddenly that we can note it precisely as happening 
while her left foot gave her weight to the tenth stair and 
her right yet toed the eleventh ; that she would invite him 
to dine with her. And his sister Nell. The addition oc- 
curred to her on the seventh stair, was rejected for obvious 
reasons of caution before she had both feet on the mat at 
the bottom, but yet helped to familiarise her with the dar- 
ing project. Probably however that buzz at her heart 
would not have allowed her to humour her desire — for de- 
sire it was — but for the workaday thought, or after- 
thought, that it would be a good opportunity for overhaul- 
ing his bedroom, which must be in sore need of a woman’s 
hand. There may have been curiosity in it too ; but that 


*54 


FOREST FOLK 


and what else must remain forever unresolved, the sight of 
those cold chops glued to that cold dish had so given the 
all-pervading undistinguishing flavour of pity to the 
impulse. 

No reasonable being could ever withstand so many rea- 
sons, separable or inseparable, unless he or she wished ; 
which Lois didn’t. The yardman’s loud whistle in the 
yard and the rattle of the well-bucket and chain were won- 
derfully sustaining. But something kept her from taking 
her invitation personally, which would have been the natural 
and least troublesome way ; perhaps the fright she got at her 
last knocking was too fresh with her. So she wrote a 
polite little woman’s note on her best note-paper, presenting 
compliments and requesting pleasure, pushed it under his 
door, gave a tiny tap with one little knuckle, and ran away. 
Then she was forthwith afraid of her own courage ; again 
thought of Nell ; went so far as to speak to one of the boys 
about a message to her; learned at once that the great- 
grandmother of the Rideouts had died in the night, and had 
to give up her intention, if intention it was. 

The note said one o’clock. He was more punctual than 
she, for he set his foot on the first stair just as the old clock 
in the hall was preparing with much internal commotion to 
sound the hour, and she had to hasten from the kitchen to 
meet him. If she came from the kitchen fire, that was 
doubtless the red mark of it upon her cheeks. But she 
wondered at him ; had it not been for the great stature and 
the abundant wavy hair that was not red, she would hardly 
have recognised him. The hair was combed back and tied 
with a black ribbon ; he was scrupulously washed and 
brushed and shaven. His coat and breeches, decent though 
of rustic cut, were of the same dark-blue cloth ; his waist- 
coat, which fell half down his thighs, was of black plush 
gaily beflowered ; a voluminous black satin cravat confined 


255 


A QUIET DAY 

his snowy linen ; his stockings were of yellow silk, and 
there were silver buckles to his shoes. Altogether he made 
a handsome appearance in his manly freshness; Lois 
doubted whether she had done well to consider her plain 
turkey-red merino good enough for the occasion, and 
whether it and her complexion showed any signs of her 
culinary occupation, as with the proper curtsey she made 
the proper greeting : 

u Good-morning, sir.” 

u Good-morning, ma’am. I’m honoured, ma’am.” 

The bow, like the words which it accompanied, had an 
old-fashioned formality which savoured of the rustic, but 
not in the least degree of the clown. 

u I must compliment you upon your punctuality.” 

He smiled very pleasantly. She thought it astonishing 
how pleasantly he could smile. 

“The sun’s a raight good time-keeper, ma’am. And 
so’s hunger.” 

u Oh dear, yes ! This is your breakfast as well as din- 
ner. I wonder you were content to be merely punctual. 
But I mustn’t feed you on compliments, standing. Will 
you please to come this way ? We are quite alone. I 
ought to have told you before, so as to put you at your 
ease.” 

“There’s no call to tell me oat, ma’am; I’m your 
prisoner.” 

She led him into the parlour. She had already drawn a 
screen before the window, cutting the room off* from out- 
side observation ; the house-doors were bolted against sur- 
prise, back and front. Having seated him she excused 
herself, while she went and took up the couple of roast 
ducks and the dish of potatoes, and set them in the place 
of dignity above the apple-sauce, the cold sirloin of beef, 
the apple-pie and cheese, which were already on the table. 


256 


FOREST FOLK 


In inviting him to be seated opposite to her, she made the 
customary formal apology for the scantiness of the fare. 
In reply he bowed and said, as our rustic great-grandfathers 
would have done : 

“Ma’am, it’s a famous good dinner. ’Twould be a fa- 
mous good dinner without your presence.” 

It seemed to her he put more than the usual expression 
into the formula, and she could not help wondering what 
he meant by it and whether it were sincere. She could not 
help all through the meal taking more interest than she 
thought reasonable in his appearance, his sayings and do- 
ings. She had of course to keep a watch upon his plate in 
order to play the hostess with due hospitality ; but even 
when her eyes were on her own, she seemed to see with 
the same distinctness how he bent his head to the words of 
her grace, how he used his knife more than was necessary, 
how he smiled and how he drank. He was much younger 
than she had supposed him to be ; she now thought he 
could not be more than twenty. She took note that he 
liked much apple-sauce and gravy ; that his teeth were 
white and strong and even ; that he said “ obleege ” for 
oblige like her grand-uncle ; that the slices of bread looked 
very small in his hand — she wished she had cut them 
larger ; that when he smiled he always lifted his eyebrows 
a little, as though to make a larger window for the sparkle 
of his eyes ; that the said eyebrows were a little darker 
than his hair; that he did not take much salt; that she had 
some silver-gilt buttons which would look much prettier 
on his coat than those plain silver ones ; that he did not 
seem to care for ale ; that sometimes his North-country 
dialect had a pleasant flavour, but that hern instead of hers 
did not sound nice at all. She would like to have told 
him so. 

He had not emptied his silver cup of ale until he had 


257 


A QUIET DAY 

nearly finished his second helping of apple-pie. Then she 
wished to replenish it, for in those days it was the hostess’s 
duty to press her guest to eat and drink more than the one 
thought desirable or the other judicious. He declined. 

“ With your permission, ma’am, I’ve fun’ out that a 
little’s better for one than a deal.” 

But he ate without any such limitation of his appetite. 
After they had bowed heads together in thanks u for what 
we have received,” he rose and said : 

u Next to that, ma’am, I hae to thank yo.” 

She laughed and said, “Your excellent appetite, sir, is 
the best and indeed sufficient thanks.” 

He would then have taken his leave, but she asked him 
to be seated while she cleared the table. 

“ I mootn’t bide longer nor’s convenient,” he answered 
modestly ; w but if I bide it’s fitter for me to sarve.” 

“ Let us both serve, then our state will be the greater by 
another servant.” 

She was within an ace of saying cc sarve ” in mocking 
mimicry ; she was not at all afraid of him just then. So 
they removed dish and platter together, he carrying not at 
all clumsily, like most men-folk, she doing little beyond di- 
recting where and how to place. 

w Thank you, fellow-servant,” she said, with a little 
curtsey, when all was done. w Though if I considered the 
unequal division of our labour I might rather say, c Thank 
you, servant.’ ” 

u ’Twould be raightly said; I am the sarvant and yo the 
mistress.” 

u Nay, I’m the jailer and you the prisoner.” 

u Yo’re that an’ all.” 

“ How awful I must appear to you ! ” 

She kept her laughing eyes upon him until he answered ; 
but for which it appeared as if he would not have answered 


25 8 


FOREST FOLK 


at all. First he paled, next he bowed his head, and so with 
slow reluctance he spoke. 
u Yo do that.” 

Whereat she fell to be as ill at ease as he ; or more so, for 
doubt and surprise were mixed with her disturbance, while 
he perhaps knew why and what he suffered. She recovered 
first, as was her right, sufficiently for a jest if not for earnest. 

w If I am so awful,” she said lightly, u you must do my 
command ; which is, not to leave this room until my re- 
turn. Do not go near the window ; but my rigour does 
not debar you from amusing yourself meanwhile with the 
books or that portfolio of engravings, according as your 
tastes are literary or artistic.” 

u I doubt they’re nayther, ma’am ; for what I like best 
man had little or no hand in.” 

u Oh, if your tastes are merely natural they’re hardly to 
be called tastes at all, and certainly not taste. Well, 
there’s an armchair and there’s a settee, both excellent 
things in their way, although men did make them.” 

Lois was astonished to find Tant’s bedroom in perfect 
order, the bed carefully made, the window open to the cold 
fresh wind. There were only the soiled clothes and muddy 
shoes which he had worn yesternight to point it out as the 
lodging of a rude intrusive clown. She examined with 
much curiosity the strange paper tube lying on the floor 
against the wall, and also the looped rope tied to the bed- 
post. She could guess at the use of the latter, but of the 
former not a whit. Out of his water-jug there stood a 
large sprig of gorse in full bloom. 

What a strangely unequal man he was ! She stood and 
mused at the open window, wherefrom she could see the 
roof and chimney-stack of the Low Farmhouse. The 
rude wild figure he made after he had fought with her 
brother; his yet more disreputable appearance later in the 


A QUIET DAY 259 

day, when he reeled before her in the open street drink-dis- 
graced and shameless; the magnificent savagery of his de- 
fence of her against odds — again she admired and shud- 
dered ; his pale decency before the judge; the good-hu- 
moured home-loving laugh in his eyes and on his lips as she 
peeped through the window at him ; their recent meeting 
at the foot of the stairs, and the handsome respectability 
which his bodily gifts made only less than elegance and 
also more than elegance — she saw them all by turns exactly 
imaged ; and that sprig of gorse was behind her on the 
wash-hand table. 

She wished they had never met ; but could not account 
for the wish. She wished he had fled from the stable alone 
and left her up in that dark roof to escape as she might, 
then she should have missed all the subsequent compli- 
cations ; nevertheless reproaching herself the while for 
willing such a rent in his courage and generosity. She felt 
again that fearful necessity of putting her maiden arm 
about his neck ; again she felt the assurance of his strength, 
as she hung in the dark neither seeing nor knowing. She 
wished she had never left Kent ; there were no such men 
there. She tried to think what the Kent men were like, 
Mr. Smith’s three sons, young Mr. Brown, young Mr. 
Robinson, but their figures were vague to her. She turned 
away from the window ; she took the damp clothes and 
shoes and carried them down to dry by the kitchen fire. 

She did not like returning to the parlour at all. She 
wished the house were not so still. The stable-boy had 
gone off whistling up the road to join his comrades ; 
Selby and Wells had not yet come to make their four-legged 
charges comfortable for the night. She had been very im- 
prudent in letting herself be left alone ; she would be justly 
served if he considered her unmaidenly. Immediately she 
became really angry with him, red-angry, on the provoca- 


26 o 


FOREST FOLK 


tion of her own imaginings. Let him think so, it did not 
matter to her; after a few days she would probably never 
see him again ; she should content herself — as the best and 
the worst of us have to do — with the consciousness of her 
good intentions. This new mood made her feel braver to 
meet him. Anyhow it had to be done. She went out into 
the yard and fetched Bob from his kennel, the surly old 
black and white retriever who sometimes accompanied her 
walks. In the kitchen she petted him with duck bones and 
caresses ; then when he had eaten enough she resisted his 
obstinate wish to lie down by the fire for a digestive sleep, 
and coaxed him to go with her to the parlour. Even on 
the door-mat she paused, balancing two contrary opinions 
and troubled by both. Would he think her bold? Or 
would he see that she was really timid ? But Bob showed 
a tendency to slip back into the kitchen ; she took him by 
the collar and both entered the room together. She would 
have liked Tant to think that Bob had been in the house 
all the time. 

He came towards her immediately. He was standing 
ready to do so, making it appear that his action was a re- 
solved thing. Yet resolution was less apparent on his face 
than diffidence. Bob growled and wriggled and hung back 
on his collar; the hand that held him was relaxed, he broke 
away and escaped from the room. 

“ Yo were angry wi’ me yesterday,” he said, with an in- 
tonation betwixt a question and an affirmation. 

“ Was I ? I don’t — for I’ve no right to be angry with 
you, Mr. Rideout. Besides it would be ridiculous.” 

“ Yo’ve every raight, ma’am,” he said gravely, w every 
raight that one like you can hae ower one like me.” 

His candour compelled hers. 

u Well, I did think, considering all the circum- 
stances ” 


A QUIET DAY 261 

“ The danger o’ my neck, and what’s more, your own 
inconvenience ? ” 

“ All the circumstances — I did think you might have 
been better employed than in inventing a silly toy to frighten 
a girl with.” 

u If it did frighten you I’m very sorry for’t ; ’twas far 
from my intention.” 

u It did frighten me. But I frightened you this morn- 
ing, didn’t I ? ” 

The tone of their conversation, it seemed, was getting 
too serious for her, and she was glad to slip aside into flip- 
pancy. 

u Sartainly yo did. First there was the loud knock that 
woke me. Bad consciences don’t like loud knocks, ma’am. 
I never tho’t but ’twere Tom White and the specials corned 
for me. Then when the door oppened afore I could hull 
the ladder out, it came to me like a flash I mun now ayther 
kill or be killed ; and the choice was a stret un.” 

w It was thoughtless of me ; it was cruel. I do beg your 
pardon.” 

“ Such a word as pardon, ma’am, don’t fit your mouth at 
all. Yo couldn’t unnerstand ; yo don’t know what ’tis to 
hae a conscience that the constable’s after.” 

Again she had to struggle to be trivial. 

u Well, we’ll reckon we’re quits, my fright against 
yours, if you please. And now please sit and tell me the 
meaning of that funny brown paper thing, if meaning it 
has.” 

He related to her his night-doings in miniature mimicry; 
she laughed and she shuddered. 

u How could you ? ” she kept saying. w I should have 
died of fear. How could you ? I should have died of 
laughing.” 

And she thought the strangely mixed story with its terror 


262 


FOREST FOLK 


and its fun highly characteristic of the man himself. Then 
Tant fetched the tube down, and showed her how it brought 
removed sounds close to a listener’s ear. 

w So you had a purpose ? ” she said. w I see I was 
wrong, rude and wrong.” 

u No, no, ma’am ; nobody else suld say so.” 

“Well, do you think that Foat will keep his word and 
retract his accusation ? ” 

“ He’s a liar and he’s a coward, I dunno which he is 
most. With your permission I’ll goo to-night and larn.” 

M Are’t you afraid he may have told others, and that a 
watch may be set ? ” 

M Not a bit. He’s alius been a sore rascard to his neigh- 
bours. He knows they’d nubbut laugh, and say c It sarves 
yo raight. I’m on’y sorry the devil’s gien yer so much 
law.’ He’ll none tell. Now after I’ve thanked yer for 
this last o’ your unexpected undesarved kindnesses, and 

afore I again set yer at liberty ” 

He paused ; she thought he needed encouragement ; she 
said : 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Yo’ll think m’appen I’ve no call to ax.” 

“ Pray tell me.” 

“ I’m a rough-natur’d rude-bred man, ma’am.” 
w You haven’t told me.” 
u Does Mr. Skrene know as he takes in ? ” 
u What is that ? ” 
u As he has a lodger, I suld say.” 

“ No.” 

A full minute and he had not spoken. 
u Do you wish him to know ? ” 
u I’m your prisoner, ma’am.” 
tc He shall know to-night.” 

He thanked her, and rose to go. That time she did not 


A QUIET DAY 263 

attempt to detain him ; she was bodily weary from so long 
a colloquy with a being so unlike her usual company ; but 
she felt most of all the need of being alone that she might 
rest her thoughts upon silence, and put some order among 
her ravelled emotions. But before the maids came home 
about nightfall, she took up together with her prisoner’s tea 
his clothes well aired and brushed, and his boots nicely 
cleaned and blacked. He seemed shocked. 

“ I could never ha’ letten this be,” he said, w if I’d 
knowed.” 

It pleased her for the moment to humble herself. 

w I’m a farmer’s sister, sir, it can’t misbeseem me to 
clean a farmer’s shoes.” 

“ Little o’ the farmer I.” He held the shoes in his 
hand. u If I donned ’em on I suld feel as if I were 
traddling on your fingers.” 

u Wear them to-night, sir, and if my fingers suffer you 
shall yourself judge to-morrow morning.” 

She held her delicate little hand out, as if inviting him 
to take an inventory of its present condition. He bent his 
head over it as if he were desirous of doing so. She 
wondered if he were short-sighted. A little final crook of 
his knees brought his eyes so near that she felt his breath 
warm upon it. Then she hurriedly withdrew it ; and im- 
mediately afterwards was vexed with herself for the hurry. 
No doubt he was short-sighted. She would ask him ; an- 
other time. 


CHAPTER XXV 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 

Arthur’s friend rode back with him and spent the 
evening at High House. Lois, who felt overdone with the 
day’s changing excitements, was obliged to retire before he 
left ; so of course she was unable to keep her promise to 
Tant. Promising, she knew and did not know it might be 
so. But we act as though the engagement were fateful, 
the fulfilment of our choice ; knowing and not knowing 
that so long as we keep the bag of our promises clasped 
they are ours, once issued they belonged to the irresponsible 
unpromising future. 

Knowing and not knowing which, Tant with his heart 
full of promises of his own shouldered his paper tube and 
crossed the fields in the dead of the night, making the 
short cut to Fishpool and Ben Foat. It was a clear still 
night ; the little stars shone with as distinct a severalness as 
Aldabaran or Sirius ; across the unutterable black stretched 
the white wonder of the Galaxy. On such a night the 
earth’s dim differences of shade are but as a couch whereon 
to rest eyes weary of up-gazing. 

Tant passed the Bottoms, and there was no light in his 
great-grandmother’s bedroom. He thought to himself : 
u It was her bell I heard this morning ; I doubted it.” 
The thought made the earth seem the darker, and the stars 
the better company. After he had crossed the road he 
stood on the hillside and looked back on the hamlet. He 
saw a speck of light among the dark. It could not be 
from his aged relative’s casement, which fronted the other 
264 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 26 5 

way. “ M’appen,” he said to himself, u Hannah Spettigew 
is taken worse.” 

There was a light too in Ben Foat’s bedroom. Through 
the broken pane Tant could hear the secure breathing of 
man and wife. The man it seemed would fain be more 
liar than coward ; at least like many a one before him he 
was trying to kill conscience with candle-light. Tant 
remembered that there was somewhere under the hedge an 
old barrel which had been used in the spring to protect 
Ben’s rhubarb. He groped about and found it. It was 
bottomless and rickety, but he set it upright under the 
window, and cautiously planting each considerable foot on 
the thin edge of the chime so as to balance the other, ven- 
tured to trust his weight to it. His eyes were thus brought 
above the window-sill. Through the glass, vaporous with 
their breath, he saw well enough the candle on a chair by 
the bedside, the two heads, one capped, the other with a 
red handkerchief round it, quietly reposing on the dingy 
bolster, the rest of their persons concealed by an old horse- 
rug. A lurcher lay curled up on the sole chair among Mrs. 
Foat’s petticoats. Scratcher was his name and he usually 
slept out, but had been admitted that evening as an addi- 
tional protection against ghostly cats. Tant reached the 
tube, which was leaning against the wall, and cautiously 
inserted it in the aperture which he had made the night 
before. First he aimed such a puff through it as blew out 
the candle. The two noses over the coverlet drew even 
unforeboding breaths; the dog stirred and sniffed. Then 
Tant pushed the tube a yard and a half further in, which 
he calculated would bring its mouth within an inch of the 
man’s nearer ear. He did not study tone nor yet tune, he 
simply tried what his lungs were made of ; such a blast he 
blew as either cat or devil might have admired. The 
sleeping couple and the dog up-started together. The 


266 


FOREST FOLK 


former affrighted at the exposure immediately fell back 
again, making a dark aim at the coverings. The dog 
sprang on the bed ; his contact and his terror-stricken 
howls added to their terror. They curled their legs up in 
one intricate knot, and thought the devil had come for 
them in flesh and blood. Again Tant blared; a brazen 
squeal summoning to a cat’s doomsday. The pair frantic- 
ally hugged each other, and cursed each other for letting 
the light go out. The dog cowered between them and the 
wall and yelped, afraid with their affright and his own. 

After the second blast there was nothing heard for ten 
minutes but Scratcher’s hysterical howling, which was in- 
cessant. Man and woman lay and sweated terror under 
the blankets. At last the dog was mute. Then there was 
just one quiet little delicious devilish laugh high over the 
bed, and the dog began again ; which was like the voice of 
their own horror speaking to them. After a long while 
Scratcher’s yelp became a whine, his whine a dying whimper. 
There was quiet for a space but for the riotous beating of 
their hearts. Then Tant dipped the point of the tube as 
near as he might aim to Ben’s ear and whispered cattishly : 

u What a liar you are ! ” 

u ’Twere Sunday,” Ben protested ; u I couldn’t do noat.” 

“ Quite raight ; you can’t be too partic’lar about keep- 
ing the Sabbath holy. We are. We’ve one of our own 
in hell ; every fift day.” 

There was no reply. They lay and felt the prickly 
horror from head to foot, like a physical pain. Tant was 
in no hurry, he had a long night before him. He allowed 
another ten minutes or so to pass, then tilting the tube so 
that the sound came from the foot of the bed said in the 
tone of cool leisurely mockery : 

“ You tho’t I’d gone ? Haha ! ” 

It was a full minute before the second “ Haha ! ” 


came, 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 26 7 

a fainter echo of the first. It was another five to the next 
utterance : 

u I shan’t never go. I’ve come to stop. Haha! ” 

And again just when their vexed ears had done expect- 
ing it, came the echoing “ Haha ! ” thin, faint and devilish. 
The cur had begun again, a high-pitched whine, forlorn 
and continuous. 

w If you don’t stop that dog,” said the cat-womanish 
voice, u I’ll set mine on him.” 

Yet another weight to their peine forte et dure! The 
husband’s and the wife’s voices were uplifted together 
against the dog, calling him by his own name and others 
less seemly, cursing and blessing him, coaxing and threat- 
ening. They durst not put bare hand out to him, but as 
well as they could they stroked and buffetted, patted and 
kicked him through the blankets. But all in vain ; they 
could never get him to be quiet a minute together; and 
every little movement seemed to make a breach in their 
coverings for the devil to get at them. They were cold 
and hot in the same breath. 

“ Why don’t yer try an’ beg off? ” muttered the woman. 
“ Down, Scratcher, down then ! ” 

“Try yoursen,” growled the man. “Scratcher, good 
dug ! I’ll split your head oppen.” 

“ Gie ’m another trial, sir,” whimpered the woman. 
u Good dug ! Quiet then ! He’s a bad swine, I don’t 
deny, but try ’m again. Please, mester. It’s hard on me 
an’ all, this is, as niver did noat.” 

“’Twere yo,” said Ben, “as wouldn’t lemme. Drot 
the yawping dug! Stosh it, will yer ? ’T were yo as said 
a farthing dip ud be as good as a Bos’ell’s charm ; it war. 
Quiet wi’ yer, quiet, I say ! ” 

“ Yo’re a ligger ! An’ a thundering big ligger ! ” 

“ So’s yersen.” 


268 


FOREST FOLK 


“ Yo’re fool ! An' a gret soft fool ! ” 

u Yo’re another ! ” 

“ Be damned to yer ! ” 

“ Be damned yersen ! ” 

w Hahaha! ” cackled the thin fiendish voice ; “you shall 
be, both on you. All in good time.” 

It froze their wrangling and even their malice. While 
the dog whined and whined. 

“ This is comfortable, this is ! ” said the voice. “We 
talk a that how in hell. It’s quite homelike. You only 
want the fire. I’ll go and fetch you some. We’ve plenty 
and to spare.” 

“For Gord’s marcy,” roared the man hoarsely, “gie’s 
one more chance ! this one more chance ! An’ if I don’t 
act jannock this time, yer may squelch me flat, as flat as 
a gob.” 

“ Do,” said the woman shrilly, “ do ! An’ if I don’t keep 
him to’t, hand an’ foot, sir, yer may hae me too, sir. Let 
’s off just this one night, just this one night. I’d gie oat 
for a night’s rest.” 

“You’re such liars,” said the voice. 

“ Not me, not me,” whined the woman. 

“We hae bin, both on ’s,” assented the man; “but if 
we don’t speak the trew trewth this time, well, we are 
liars, sich uns ’s yer don’t often see.” 

“We’ve some very good uns with us. But we can’t 
boast of ’em to you.” 

For a quarter, for half-an-hour there was silence ; the 
dog lay still ; the man and woman began to hope their 
prayer had been heard, and exhausted by their terrors pre- 
pared drowsily to resume their broken slumbers. All at 
once they heard the weird voice, cat’s and woman’s, shrilly 
at their ears : 

“ Should you like to see me ? ” 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 269 

“No!” shrieked man and woman. “ For Gord’s pity, 
no ! ” 

And the dog howled a long-drawn emphatic u No ! ” 

u You can if you like. Open your eyes. Here I am ! ” 

u Marcy ! Hae some marcy ! ” 

u Marcy ? We never heard tell on’t.” 

“Talk to ’s all night sooner nor that.” 

“ W ow-wow-wo-o-w ! Sss ! sss ! Wow-wow ! Mew ! 
Me-e-ew ! Sss ! ssssh ! ” 

From the bed-foot, from the ceiling, from close by, from 
the other side of the room, from here, there and every- 
where by turns, hissed and snarled and squealed and 
cackled the abominable non-vocables. The dog madly 
darted about the room, under the bed, over the bed, in 
every corner by turns, barking, howling, upsetting, afraid 
of his own tail. 

“ Why don’t you look at me ? Hahaha ! Why don’t 
you look ? Hohoho ! I’m nice to look at. Open your 
eyes. You shall open your eyes.” 

They did open their eyes, each of them, for a moment, 
as though charm-ridden, against their will ; each saw what 
he or she would not have seen, and again they shut eyes 
tight with a feminine squeal, a masculine howl of terror. 

“ Why do you squeal ? Ain’t I good-looking ? I’m 
better-looking than what you’ll be, either on you. You are 
not keeping that dog quiet. Look again ! look again ! Or 
I’ll touch you.” 

Tant dropped the tube across their legs. It was a won- 
der their minds held. Cold beads stood on their bodies, 
their skin pricked, each hair upheaved itself, stiffly separate ; 
and again such a hellish caterwauling filled their ears and 
every corner of the room, that the dog’s loud agony passed 
for mere accompaniment. He himself seemed to perceive 
its futility, even as an expression of terror. He suddenly 


270 


FOREST FOLK 


ceased, again leapt on the bed and forced his way in be- 
tween his master and mistress. They thought surely they 
were gotten at last. Up went the bedclothes, out flew 
they straight for the door. They might have escaped, but 
Ben fell over the chair which Scratcher had upset, Deb fell 
over him ; they felt the dog or the devil at them as they 
sprawled. They scrambled frantically back into bed, found 
some of the clothes, missed the rest, and so lay together, 
dog and all, one leg covered and another naked, hot and 
cold at once. At last they could do nothing but grip at 
the nearest thing for the shadow of safety, the bedclothes, 
their own or one another’s bodies, and keep on ejaculating 
between each short gasp, “ Oh lor ! oh lor ! oh lor ! ” The 
air was fetid with their terror. 

But the fiendish concert when it seemed to have no end 
ended. They did not know at first, or could not believe ; 
still they kept on panting and ejaculating, “ Oh lor ! oh 
lor ! ” their pants as loud as their ejaculation. But in time 
they appeared to perceive and believe, or perhaps they were 
merely exhausted into silence ; they lay with their mouths 
open panting like dogs, but other sound was there none for 
a space by them unmeasurable. Then the puss voice, thin 
and calm, half-way to the ceiling, said again at irregular 
intervals : 

“ It was too violent. 

u I shan’t do’t again. 

“ I shall stop where I am.” 

u Thank Somebody for that ! ” cried the hearts of the 
two, but the only outward sound was a groan of relief. 

u I shall stop where I am to-night.” 

How blessed the assurance ! 

u To-morrer I shall be an inch nearer you, Ben.” 

What fiend’s meaning was there in that ? 

u The third day two inch nearer. 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 


271 


“ The fourt day three inch. 

“ An inch nearer every day. 

u Till Pm only an inch from you, Ben. 

tc The next day I nab you. 

“ The very day Tant appears at the ’Sizes. 

u I’m just forty-one inches off, Ben. 

“ For forty-one days I keep my distance.” 

There was comfort even in that for Ben after the nearer 
horrors of voice and touch. The end of forty-one days 
seemed afar. Tant gave him five minutes or perhaps ten 
to be thankful in, then said : 

u When I want to speak to you close or touch you I 
shall ask a friend.” 

M No more, for Lord’s sake, no more ! ” groaned the 
man. u Two’d kill me dead ! ” 

“ I’ve got one friend with me to-day. 

“ He’s a devil, of course, but he’s just like a retriever to 
look at. You’ll fancy him, Ben, being a dog-dormer your- 
self. A well-bred black retriever. 

“Except his teeth and his eyes. His eyes sipe hell-fire. 

“ If you’d like to see him, you’ve only to say.” 

“No, no ! ” groaned man and woman in concert. “ Good 
lor, no ! We’re stawed wi’ one.” 

“ To-morrow there’ll be three on’s.” 

Gracious heavens ! what new arithmetic was that ? 

“ The third’s a monkey. 

“ With a tail like a sarpent. It’ll sarve to go all round 
the room, and a bit on’t left to snuggle into your bed. 

“ The fourt’s like a badger. 

“You think your badgers can bite, maybe ? 

“ Our badger’s bite burns. 

“On the forty-first day there’ll be forty-two on’s. 

“Without yo, Ben.” 

The new goad pricked cruelly deep, but hardly raised a 


272 


FOREST FOLK 


groan. The terror it spurred was not dead, but simply ex- 
hausted. Perhaps Tant perceived as much. 

“ I’m tired ; I can’t be alius talking. 

“ I must think of myself. 
u Even bogeys want a rest. 

“ Perhaps you’d like one too ? Well, go to sleep. 

“If you can. 

“ Haha ! ” 

Devil never spoke so true as that. What with the 
constrained position, the prolonged vociferation, the inven- 
tive fatigue, Tant was in pressing need of a rest, or at least 
of a change. He quietly withdrew the tube, stepped down 
from his perch, and went off for a quick leg-stretching 
ramble up by Barber’s Wood and down by the Queen’s 
Bower. 

An hour later he returned to the house refreshed, again 
inserted the tube and barked like a dog sepulchrally deep. 
Man and woman started, they groaned, they could do no 
more. Perhaps they were on the verge of a haunted sleep, 
perhaps not. But Scratcher barked back furiously. 

w How do you like my dog’s voice ? Bow-wow-wow ! ” 
He smote them across the body with the tube. 
u That was his tail that tickled you. 

“ Haha ! 

u Bow-wow-wow-wow ! 
u Keep your dog still or mine’ll fly at you.” 

Ben saw no way but to pinch Scratcher’s throat until it 
could pass nothing but a throttled gurgle. 

“ Now go to sleep again, my dears ; go to sleep, Ben and 
Deb. 

w Sweet slumbers ! 
w Satan bless you. 
w I’m watching over you. 

M Hahaha ! 


CAT-AND-DOG LIFE 


2 73 


w Bow-wow-wow ! ” 

u Oh, Lord, when will’t be mornin’ ? ” 
woman. u Oh, Lord, mek it mornin’ soon, 
mek it mornin’ now. Oh, Lord, I’d gie oat.’ 


groaned the 
Oh, Lord, 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE BROKEN DREAM 

Arthur Skrene woke in the dark, and what had awoke 
him he knew not. Soon he heard himself named, “ Mr. 
Skrene, Mr. Skrene ! ” very distinctly, but by no means in 
a loud awakening manner. He heard it again. It seemed 
to come from under his window ; he thought he recognised 
the voice, and wondered if he was really awake. 

“ Mr. Skrene, Mr. Skrene ! ” 

The same voice, the same impression on himself. He 
rose, opened the window and looked forth. There was 
sufficient light to make out a figure robed in white on the 
ground beneath, from which again came the same utterance 
in the same tone at the same pitch. 

“ Mr. Skrene ! Arthur Skrene ! ” 

u I am coming,” he answered. 

If it were not Nell Rideout’s voice there was no trusting 
sounds. Arthur dressed hastily, wondering what new thing 
had befallen. He lighted his candle at the night-light 
which burnt on the landing, ran down-stairs, unbarred the 
door and went out. Hard Ly, still under his chamber 
window, was the draped figure, expectant. He approached, 
candle in hand. The figure turned to the light. It was 
indeed Nell ; she stood a little out of the concealment of 
the night in a long white bed-robe that trailed the 
ground. Her face was pale ; there was no relief to the 
whiteness but the darkness of eyes and hair. Her hair fell 
about her shoulders. Arthur wondered greatly. At the 
sound of his approach she turned towards him. 

274 


THE BROKEN DREAM 


275 

“ I’ve corned to invite yer to our Tant’s funeral ; he was 
hanged to-day.” 

She spoke in a dream-drenched voice. Arthur advancing 
the candle a little saw that her eyes, though wide open, did 
not appear to take cognisance of him, of the light, nor in- 
deed of anything. He concluded that she was putting a 
dream into real action. 

u Come ; the bell is tolling. Hark ! ” 

u Let us go then,” he said. 

He set the candle down inside the house, and immedi- 
ately returning took her gently by the hand so as not to 
awaken her. As his hand touched hers, hers clasped his. 
She readily yielded to his leading, and hand in hand the two 
walked together towards Low Farm. Charles’s wain shone 
over their heads; before them was the halved glory of 
Orion, soon wholly to set. The earth was still under 
darkness, but behind them on the eastern horizon the black- 
ness of the sky and the brightness of the stars had suffered 
equal diminution ; token that the waning dilatory moon 
was at last to rise. The air had become more frostily keen, 
and at the farm they were leaving a cock began prematurely 
to crow. 

Across the grass the two paced together, at such a dis- 
tance as might be and yet each retain the other’s hand. 
The air-filling night was like a grey veil over Nell’s long 
white robe. It trailed the ground, but at each step the 
toes of a bare foot or a white stocking showed glimmer- 
ingly beyond it for a moment and disappeared. She turned 
her head neither to the right nor to the left ; her open eyes 
took no heed of anything; she seemed to feel neither cold 
nor discomfort ; her hair fell about her face like the dark- 
ness of clouds about a cloudy moon. Neither of them 
spoke. 

The front door of the Low Farmhouse was wide open. 


2j6 


FOREST FOLK 


Probably some dream-notion of a ceremonial toward had 
caused her to go out by that seldom-used exit. There was 
a light in the room overhead. Arthur gently led her into 
the house, himself going no further than the threshold ; she 
was thus in the shadow, he in such grey light as there was. 
What then ? It seemed he had come to the hardest part of 
his undertaking. He did not know what to do for the 
best. He shrank from rousing her sister, he durst not 
awaken herself, he was not willing to leave her to the 
guidance of chance. As he stood an unexpected gush of 
tenderness came over him, such as the self-reliant man-de- 
fiant day-seen Nell had never inspired ; the tenderness of 
the strong towards the weak and dependent. As the first 
step to whatever action he began gently to withdraw his 
hand from hers. But hers was no puny grasp slackly reten- 
tive, and he had an increasing difficulty in freeing each suc- 
cessive finger ; for as one and another was withdrawn she 
the more tightly clasped the remainder. At length he was 
only held by the ring finger. To release it he used no more 
force than was needful, but as the tie between them was 
completely broken she gave a little sigh. Then he was 
dimly aware through the darkness, less by sight than in- 
sight, of a change in the quality of her gaze ; instead of be- 
ing vacantly unattached it was fixed gravely, wonderingly 
upon him. She put her left hand upon the door-jamb, and 
resting on it leant her head forward until he could see a 
grey difference between the whites of her eyes and the 
pupils. Her long drapery flowing downwards from her re- 
mained still almost lost in the shadows. He saw recognition 
swim into her eyes ; saw or thought he saw surprise, fear, 
shame, accumulatively trouble their dark liquid depths. She 
fled into the house without a word. He listened, he heard a 
voice or voices ; he quietly shut the door and withdrew. 

It was Tish’s light that burnt in the upper room. She 


THE BROKEN DREAM 


2 7.7 


had been awakened by Nell’s going forth, had lighted a 
candle and lain listening ever since. She never doubted but 
that it had to do with Tant. At Nell’s reentrance she met 
her on the stairs and addressed her with matutinal acerbity. 

u Where ever hae yer bin raunging all this night ? Well, 
of all ! Yo moot be mad ! To goo trailing about i’ your 
nightgown. And in your stocking-feet ! What fool’s 
work hae yer bin agate on ? ” 

u I don’t know, I don’t know ! ” cried Nell in sore dis- 
tress, trying to push past. 

u Yo might as well say and ha’ done wee’t, y’ave bin out 
getting your death o’ co’d after that wezzle-brained good- 
for-noat lad of ourn.” 

“ I hain’t .” 

“ No ? What then ? What sort o’ gam’s this, and your 
gret-granmam laid out for burial but not buried ? ” 
u Lemme goo ! ” said Nell. 

Tish held her fast. 

“ If ’tweren’t our Tant who were’t ? ” 

“ I can’t tell yer, I wain’t tell yer.” 
w Don’t know? Can’t tell? Wain’t tell?” Tish’s 
emphasis became more furious at each fresh negation. 
u Then I ax him , our Nell.” 

iC No ! ” cried Nell, “ no ! not him ! ” 

She endeavoured to detain Tish, but bewildered in mind, 
numbed with cold, encumbered by her drapery, she was no 
match for the man’s strength, the fierce determination of 
her sister, who held besides the upper position on the stairs. 
Tish tore herself loose, rushed to her own room, flung open 
the casement. Arthur had lingered over his going ; con- 
cern for Nell, perhaps some more personal feeling had 
made his feet slow. Tish saw him pretty well at about 
thirty yards’ distance. It was not Tant, whoever it was. 
She took down from its hooks her father’s fowling-piece, 


278 


FOREST FOLK 


which she kept in her chamber loaded against burglary, re- 
turned to the window, cocked it and fired. Nell stood in 
the doorway. 

“ Hae yo hit him ? ” she said. 

u I don’t reckon to miss a man at thirty yards,” answered 
Tish grimly. 

Nell wasted no words ; she went to her room, slipped on 
gown and shoes and came forth again. At the head of the 
stairs Tish confronted her largely obstructive. 

Quietly, as one who has taken her last determination, she 
said : 

u Yo wain’t balk me o’ this, our Tish, no more nor I 
balked yo o’ that.” 

It was so ; Tish let her pass, only saying with fierce 
mockery : 

w Goo to him then, yo brazen madam. But he’s gotten 
a wownd as needs comfrey more nor comfort.” 

Nell overtook him not far away going slowly towards 
home. She had put aside her own perplexities ; she said 
with much concern : 

“ Are yo hurt much ? ” 

“Hurt? Is that you, Miss Rideout? Good-evening. 
Hurt ? Why should I be ? But I’ve always understood it 
isn’t healthful to be out walking at this time of night or 
early morning, and if I don't suffer for it there’s a good old 
saw spoilt. I don’t suppose the climate of Blidworth’s any 
more salubrious than the rest of the kingdom.” 

He walked more briskly, more erectly ; had it not been 
for the bitter irony she might have thought him unhurt. 
The lessened moon had just risen clear of the long straight- 
chined hill ; she gave not a fourth of her full light to the 
heavens and none at all as yet to the valley. There was an 
inkling of mockery in the way she lay on her back and 
turned up her toes. 


THE BROKEN DREAM 


279 

Nell said, less resolutely by far than she had spoken to 
her sister: “I’ve a favour to ax, Mr. Skrene.” 

u It’s a favour to be asked one by you, Miss Rideout.” 

u Let me do summat for yer. Lean a bit on my arm. 
Forget it’s a woman’s; if that’s oat again it.” 

w You spoke of a favour to yourself, Miss Rideout ; that 
is one to me. Of which I am unworthy.” 

Still he was going, though hardly so briskly, she by his 
side. She answered angrily, but of the anger that is near 
tears : 

cc Yo’ve a raight to say nay; yo’ve no raight to hap it i’ 
so many fine words.” 

But almost immediately she added, less angrily : 

“ At least it’s a raight as is better to keep nor to use.” 

Presently she spoke again, and the anger was gone. 

u Mr. Skrene, I’ve bore a many sore mishaps o’ late; 
and now another un strange and sore has befallen me this 
night. I’ve glegged the last end on’t, but the first end and 
the middle’s all of a raffle, all of a raffle, and the house I 
was born in looks skew at me. And yo wain’t oppen 
your mouth.” 

To a nice ear it might have appeared that the tears 
which had before vexed the voice were now wetting the 
cheeks, but Arthur was hardly in a condition to weigh 
tones scrupulously, probably he hardly heard the words ; his 
eyes were on the shadow of a man in front of him with 
something like the shadow of a gun in his hand. As soon 
as Nell had spoken he cried, “ That’s the villain ! ” went 
forward a few paces, and fell to the ground in a swoon. 
Immediately she was on her knees. The diagnosis was 
brief. There was mixture of triumph with the trouble 
when she said, still on her knees : 

“ Now, Arthur Skrene, there’s nayther a long nay nor a 
short un again my doing summat for yer.” 


28 o 


FOREST FOLK 


When she rose to her feet there was somebody by her 
side. 

44 What’s the news, Nell ? ” 

It was Tant. 

44 A man shot.” 

“ Shot how ? ” 

M Don’t stan’ axing fools’ questions, but ” 

w Why it’s Mr. Skrene ! ” 

u I said noat to the contrairy. I was gooing for the 
barrer ; but up wee him i’ your arms — thank God, they 
are strong uns, Tant Rideout — and carry him for me to his 
house.” 

44 Ourn’s nigher.” 

u The oppen door’s ever the nighest. Do as I tell yer.” 

Tant set down the strange long thing which he car- 
ried — Nell saw it, but asked no question — and lifted the 
senseless body in his strong arms. 

44 Be gentle wee’m, Tant.” 

u Why suldn’t I be gentle ? ” 

44 Oh, but be very gentle.” 

She walked by his side giving tender support with her 
left arm to the hanging head. In her right she carried his 
hat. But once she held it for a few moments in her teeth 
while she stroked back the dark hair from the lifeless eyes ; 
and again when she lifted the dead arm into an easier posi- 
tion across the chest. 

“ Put the hat on your own head, Nell,” said Tant ; u yo 
goo bare.” 

44 It’s a man’s hat.” 

44 If it be ? Yo’ve wore men’s hats many a time.” 

44 How yo talk, Tant! Be quiet ; it pithers him.” 

They walked in silence across the beck, past the shadowy 
trees, up the dark slope, until they emerged into the moon- 
light at the top of a little knoll. Then Nell exclaimed : 


THE BROKEN DREAM 


281 

w How he bleeds! Welladay, how he bleeds! He’ll 
ne’er last a this how. Yo mun goo faster, Tant, faster. 
But don’t jot him.” 

A few more paces and she said : 

w Set him down a minute.” 

Tant did so. She had one stocking on ; she took the gar- 
ter off, and wound it mid-thigh round Arthur’s wounded leg. 

u Catch ho’d o’ t’other end,” she said, 4t and pull it stret.” 

Tant did so. The garter it appeared was no modern 
flimsy thing, but home-spun, closely knitted, equal to the 
stress of a strong man’s strength. Then the two again 
raised Arthur into Tant’s arms. 

w Yo mun manage alone,” said Nell. 

u Manage ? It’s like cadling a babby, this is.” 

“ I shall ride to Mansfield for a doctor.” 

“ Raight.” 

u Goo quick, Tant Rideout, quick ; but gentle wee’t. 
Don’t meddle wi’ the garter, but as soon’s ever yo get him 
into the house — I think he bleeds less now — put a bandage 
about the wownd, and slear the bandage wi’ some balsam, 
if any they hae, to sleek the bleeding; and put a cloth 
dipped i’ vinegar the back of his neck.” 

She gently let the unconscious head droop until it found 
what pillowing it might on Tant’s strong arm. The dark 
hair had again belike fallen across the closed eyes; with 
one gentle movement of her hand she smoothed it away. 
Then she turned and ran down the slope with her back to 
the slant moonlight, swiftly down into the dark. So and 
not so ran Dian’s maids before the dawn ; their haste was 
but their sport. So and not so ran Atalanta with the third 
apple in her hand ; she feared, but for herself. 

She makes her way straight to the stable. She fetches 
out the colt, that wild unbroken thing. She forces the 
roughened curb between his teeth ; he flings back his head, 


282 


FOREST FOLK 


but has to lend his jaw to compulsion. She stays not for 
saddle ; she leaps upon his back and rides him like a man, 
straddling. She forgets not her whip. Woe be to the colt 
if he obey not her will ! 

But the colt does obey her will. Rebelling in his heart, 
defying with his head, uttering mutiny with his heels, he 
yet flies under her the way that she would have him go. 
Through the dark Bottoms they rollup; there is a light but 
in one window. Did anybody look forth from it he would 
see a strange sight under the moon : a horse going wildly, 
a woman riding astride. Her uncovered hair trails in the 
wind ; the ungartered stocking hangs at the heel ; there is 
the flutter of a skirt, the glimmer of a white ankle ; his 
hoofs are indistinguishably intermixed ; they scatter fire and 
turmoil ; it has passed. 

Will he or nill he, the colt takes the left-hand turn for 
Fishpool and begins to go up-hill. Quicker, my nag, this 
is but play ! Quicker, ’tis night yet and naked courage 
will not be seen. But before reaching the hamlet Nell 
bends the colt’s rebellious neck and will and forces him to 
leave the road, as nobody durst do but one to whom every 
yard of land was known, every hedge, every ditch, every 
hump and hollow, every clump of gorse or broom. Across 
country he flies, a protesting conformist. 

On with you, colt ! though heart rebel and heel mutiny ; 
keeping a little to the left, for oh the right lies the steeper 
ascent. If you can’t or won’t jump that hedge, through it 
shall you press by mere weight. The moon glimmers on 
the grass, but shines on the road. 

It is down-hill now for a space ; you may go more 
gently, breathe yourself a little if you will, for you pass by 
Fountain Dale, shrouded in trees and haunted still by Friar 
Tuck. 

And now zigzagging before you lies a rising track 


THE BROKEN DREAM 


283 

closely hedged by bramble, broom and gorse. The cruel 
whip descends upon your flank. Fly, colt, fly ! up the 
long slope, down the short descent, grassy, sandy, stony, 
smooth and rough by turns. Fly ! Make it appear to be 
your own mutinous will to fly, not that of the stern she 
upon your back. Harlow Wood lowers dark upon your 
left for all the moon can do to lighten it, but shy not at it, 
it is dark but still. 

On, on, in mad submission ! Pound this rock, strike 
fire from these stones ! If there be a waker at the Firs 
make him wonder at the fury of your hoofs, sit up in bed 
and wonder and fear. Hang the triumph of it on your 
neck, make an ornament of your compulsion, have a pride 
in your indignity. On ! 

Here is Berry Hill at last ! Give your mind to it, good 
colt. Make your shoulders strong ! Contend no longer. 
Now you need neither the whip nor the heel ; tongue to 
palate gives you all the encouragement you require. The 
birch bark glistens in the increasing moonlight ; but prick 
not up your ears and play at terror ; there is stern work 
yet before you. 

Press onward over the crest of the hill, colt. Fail not, 
although each breath be a pain. Yon two windmills which 
rise up ghost-like in front of you are landmarks, and a mile 
off* down in that dark hollow to the left of them is Mans- 
field hidden away. It is a rude descent ; the rocky sur- 
face, swept bare of sand by the winds, is strewn with loose 
stones ; but your knees are young and strong, and the hand 
that has your guidance neither fears nor frets nor fusses. 
Down the rein from it to you passes a nerve-vivifying 
something electrical, and you too neither falter nor fume. 

Steadily now, colt, steadily ! Out of the moonlight into 
the dark street ! And now you stop under the doctor's 
window, just twenty minutes from the start. 


284 


FOREST FOLK 


The rider slips down and bangs at the door ; the colt 
stands reeking, panting, without a will. Quickly the doc- 
tor opens his window. 

11 What is it now ? ” 

w A man shot at Blid’orth. It’s a matter of haste, doc- 
tor, of life and death. Mr. Skrene of High Farm.” 

“ Who shot him ? ” 

u Is that oat to the curing on him ? He got shot.” 

“ And who are you, my outspoken messenger? ” 

u Shut your mouth, man, and your winder, and don your 
breeches on. While yo blether he bleeds.” 

“ And if I don’t choose to do your not over-civil com- 
mands ? ” 

“Your own heart wain’t suffer yer.” 

w I only know the heart as a moderately-efficient blood- 
pump.” 

u I’ll stan’ an’ thump at your door whilst all the righteous 
in this town come out and shout again yer.” 

w All their shouting wouldn’t start a mouse.” 

He withdraws his head however. 

There is a light in the dark house, the ringing of a bell, 
the sound of voices ; and soon or late — according to the 
waiter’s estimate or the actor’s — the opening of a stable- 
door at the back of the house. Nell walks away, leading 
her now docile steed with a slack rein. 

Good colt ! for this you shall have pats and kind words 
now, and when you get home corn and warm gruel and the 
best of grooming. 

Nell was too much of a horse-lover to task Ripper at 
the return, although her wishes flew back. But the doctor 
did not overtake her ; he travelled of course along the 
better-frequented pack-horse road by Three Thorn Hollow 
and L Pond. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 

Lois, whose nights at that time were almost sleepless, 
heard her brother go down and open the door. As he did 
not return to his room she became disturbed, her first fear 
being that the rioters had again set a trap for him, and her 
second that some new thing had befallen Tant. She rose 
and went to the stair-head, and seeing a light burning be- 
low she called Arthur by name, but received no answer. 
Then under a sudden attack of courage she descended the 
stairs ; she found the outer door unsecured and bolted it ; 
whereupon her courage went as suddenly as it had come, 
she raced back to her own room and locked herself in. 
She sat on the bed awhile and frightened herself ; then 
dressed vowing all the while that nothing should induce her 
to open door again but Arthur’s voice bidding her. When 
she was dressed she sat again and frightened herself. Dur- 
ing which she heard a gun go off*. Straightway she 
snatched up her candle, unlocked and flew to Tant’s door. 
Was it new courage or the old fear ? to give or to receive 
protection ? I do not know ; I do not think she knew 
herself ; perhaps it was a hash of the two. After knock- 
ing twice she opened the door. The room was unoccupied, 
the window open, and hanging from it the rope-ladder. 
She looked out, but could see nothing save the darkness of 
the earth, the dark-environed brightness of the stars. She 
remained there until she could make a living thing of any 
stirring bush or shadow ; then she turned hastily away. 

There is a time when a straw is a stay, and the sight of 
285 


286 


FOREST FOLK 


another troubled face the consolation of our own. Lois 
was going to call the maids up that their fear might en- 
courage hers, when there came a loud banging at the front 
door. She stood still where she was; and while she stood 
still there was again a loud banging, as of a foot, and a 
loud demand for a speedy opening. She went down to the 
hall, stooped at the keyhole trembling and said, “ Who’s 
there ? ” knowing who was there. 

u Tant Rideout, ma’am; and another wi’ him — a friend 
o’ yourn.” 

She feared ; his voice was strange to her though she knew 
it; she feared. 

“Don’t be afeard; oppen quick; there’s need on’t.” 

She put a shaking hand to the key ; her courage was 
hardly a grain more than her fear, but that grain decided 
the balance ; she opened and held the candle forward. By 
which she saw two white faces, men’s; one of which was 
alive and drew breath in short laborious pants, the other 
appeared not to breathe at all. Tant saw a girl’s white face 
and the white hand that pushed the door back. 

“ Oh, what has happened ? ” she said. 

u Mr. Skrene has gotten a hurt, ma’am. Noat danger- 
ous, I hope.” 

He spoke between gasps; he had come quickly. 

u A hurt ? Oh how ? ” 

“I dunno.” He entered. “Where shall I put him 
down ? ” 

It was answered before she spoke. The tension of his 
long-taxed muscles was slackened, his burden began to slip 
from him; perforce he laid it on the floor just within the 
door. In a moment Lois was down beside her brother, al- 
most as low as he, saying : 

“ Arthur dear, what is it ? ” 

Then she looked up at Tant and said : 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


287 


“Is he only hurt ? ” 

u Just hurt. Don’t look like that, ma’am; I lay him to 
recover on’t.” 

u Oh what shall we do ? ” 

“Somebody has gone for the doctor,” said Tant. 
“ While he comes, with your leave I’ll do what I can 
for him.” 

He again took Arthur in his arms, carried him up-stairs, 
Lois going before with the candle, and laid him on his bed. 

u If yo’d an oad sheet or blanket to put under him,” said 
Tant, “it ’ud save your bedding.” 

“ Oh, never mind that,’’ cried Lois. “ If you can do 
anything do it quickly.” 

He unclothed the lower limbs and found that they had 
sustained a number of small shot wounds. Through one 
of them in particular much blood had already been lost, but 
the flow had been greatly lessened by the constriction of 
Nell’s garter. It was further stayed by the linen bandages 
which Tant added. He did not forget the cloth dipped in 
vinegar. Lois stood at his elbow, afraid of the blood, 
afraid of the pale face and shut eyes, but ever intelligently 
ready to fetch or hold or do whatever was required of her. 
At the end of the operation Arthur opened his eyes, as 
sleeping children do when they are disturbed by their 
mother’s candle in the dead of the night ; they open their 
eyes, they give a puzzled look, mutter words without a 
beginning and sleep again. Lois took Tant’s hand, both 
of hers to one of his, and wept and said : 

“ What do I owe you ? Oh, what do I owe you ? ” 

“ Noat, ma’am ; the balance o’ debt’s heavy on the 
tother side o’ the paper. Now don’t be at all uneasy 
about your brother ; the shot hasn’t touched any dangerous 
part.” 

“ Oh ! He has been shot ? ” 


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u It’s nubbut as if he’d been freely bled vvi’out any 
partic’lar need on’t, as any doctor might do for him any 
day.” 

She thanked him, and gently withdrew her hand. But 
withdrawing it she seemed to withdraw from her comfort ; 
she saw her brother’s death-like face again and fell back 
into anguish. So those who drown at sea come up out of 
the salt death, snatch a taste of the sweet air and sink 
again. Tant may have seen the need of occupying her; at 
any rate he said : 

“ If yo could find some oad linen, ma’am, and be touzing 
it into lint, it ’ud be handy again the doctor comes. And 
if yo’ll please to show me where the kindling is I’ll light a 
fire i’ th’ grate.” 

So she did ; and when the fire was lighted Tant sat down 
and helped her to pick the lint, which they dropped into 
the same basket. The same patch of candle-light flickered 
on her hands and his, his so rudely large and strong, hers so 
ladylike and frail. The crackle of the firewood seemed a 
noise. She could hardly believe under what circumstances 
they sat there so quietly, he and she, until she turned her 
head a little and saw in the shade her brother’s face, grey 
on a grey pillow. He stirred a little and gave a faint 
moan. She rose and bent over him, but his eyes did not 
answer hers. She came back and said, like one who is 
about to lift the curtain of a mystery : 

“You haven’t told me yet how this dreadful misfortune 
happened.” 

He answered, like one who knows little and would fain 
know less : 

“ If yo’ll allow me, ma’am, to put it off while we’re not 
so throng, I’ll tell all I know ; which een’t much.” 

They sat and picked linen to pieces, much more than 
was necessary, but it was as though the teasing of the 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


289 


fingers eased the teasing of the mind. The drowsy cocks 
began to crow and men to come forth to their work by the 
dim light of lanterns. There was a loud unlocking and 
unbarring down below ; the maids had risen and gone 
down. 

“You must retire to your room,” said Lois. 

“Ay,” said Tant. 

She had said so once before and he had made the same 
answer. He seemed loath to break the quiet of the room. 
A minute later he murmured : 

11 Coy’s flail’s agate. I made him the swipple to’t.” 

The beasts lowed, expectant ; the more impatient horses 
stamped and rattled their chains; man called to man 
through the frosty air. 

“That’s the doctor’s horse at last,” said Tant, “a little 
bit lame i’ the hint-off.” 

Lois started up as at an unexpected touch. 

“ But you ? Now indeed you must go.” 

u Ay, ma’am.” 

But he stopped to snufF the candle. 

w Mr. Rideout, pray ! ” 

M I’m none afeard o’ the doctor. I know him well 
enough; I’ve sold him a hoss or two; not that wi’ the 
lame hint-off. If he kills folk for a living it’s another road 
nor Ben Foat’s, and a deal more respectable. It’s a profes- 
sion ; say what yo will, Ben’s is nubbut a trade ; and that’s 
all the difference atwixt a black cooat and a blue frock.” 

The humour of the disparagement was lost on Lois, who 
had gone to the door and was calling to the hesitating won- 
dering maids to be quick and let the doctor in. Perhaps 
her voice broke the thin wall which had confined Arthur’s 
senses. When she returned to the bedside he had his eyes 
open and they were fixed in a displeased surprise on Tant. 

u Why did you do it ? ” he said very slowly and distinctly. 


290 


FOREST FOLK 


Lois hastened back to the bedside. 

u Do what, dear ? ” 

“ That man shot me.” 

“ But it was an accident, dear.” 

“No; I heard him open the window.” 

Then he dropped his eyelids again and neither saw nor 
spoke. 

Lois turned her dark eyes on Tant. The grief that was 
in their anger only made it the more tumultuous, the more 
terrible. The doctor’s heavy tread was already on the 
stairs. 

“You wicked, you cruel man!” she said in a low ac- 
cusatory voice. 

“ And yo think I could ? ” 

There was no anger in the question ; only the pain of a 
humbled humility. 

“ I believe my brother. If I had a manservant at hand 
it would be my duty to send for a constable. As it is ” — 
all at once the single-minded anger broke up into a mixture 
of emotions — “ as it is — go free, and be, oh be a better 
man ! ” 

“ Ma’am, yo shall ne’er lack a mansarvant the short 
while I’ve to live; I’ll goo your arrand mysen.” 

“ Come, young lady, what is this new mishap ? ” 

The tall young figure with the troubled face had van- 
ished from the doorway ; pop ! and in its place with the re- 
hearsed instantaneousness of a show the doctor’s short fat 
one stood, displaying professional concern and a case of in- 
struments. Lois had to answer and point out and attend ; 
to send for this and that, to give orders to the maids, to re- 
fuse to notice their obtrusive surprise and sympathy ; and 
all while she was trying to puzzle out the meaning of 
Tant’s words, unable to fix her mind either on the duty 
that was before her or the dread that was behind. It was 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


291 


behind, but only just ; its shapeless shadow fell over her 
shoulders and took half the light from all she saw. She 
said yes when she should have said no, and could not even 
get the due satisfaction from the doctor’s kindly assurance 
that there was no need for alarm on her brother’s account. 

“ Whose happy thought was it to bind this garter round 
his thigh ? In all probability it has saved his life, for one 
of the shots has pierced the popliteal artery. By the bye, 
that remarkably fine tall young fellow who passed me on 
the landing ? He reminded me — of course it’s impossible 
— but he reminded me — and by Guy nothing’s impos- 
sible ! ” 

But Lois was not there to answer him ; she had slipped 
out of the room. The maids were on the landing, listen- 
ing and whispering. 

w Did you see anybody go out a while ago ? ” she asked. 

“Yes, miss! Tant Rideout, miss!” they exclaimed 
together. 

The brevity of their astonishment gave it an enhanced 
value, but the lady put it aside. 

u Did you see which way he went ? ” 

“ No, miss,” said Mary. 

“ We runned back into the kitchen,” said Elizabeth, u as 
sharp as we could.” 

“ He’d a leather budget in’s ’and,” said Mary. 

U I wunner what were in’t,” said Elizabeth. 

u Did anybody iver ! ’* said Mary. 

“ I shall niver feel safe nowheer no more,” said Eliza- 
beth. 

The leakage of their surprise was widening into volubil- 
ity, but Miss Skrene cut it short. 

u Go both of you and see if the doctor needs anything,” 
she said. 

She herself went to Tant’s room. She had a vague 


292 


FOREST FOLK 


thought that he might perhaps have reentered by the rope- 
ladder. She did not know it was hope until she was disap- 
pointed of it ; it might have turned out to be apprehension 
if it had been realised. But the door was wide open, in- 
viting inspection. She saw by a pale mixture of reflected 
moonlight and reflected candle-light, that the window was 
closed, the rope gone. She thought she saw that Tant’s 
Sunday clothes had been removed from the chair in the 
corner and his best shoes from under it, that the bedclothes 
had been smoothed over, and that the room bore no sus- 
picious sign of recent occupation. He must have stolen in 
before leaving the house, and having made all straight as it 
were with one sweep of his quick dexterous hands, had 
carried away his own belongings in the budget which Mary 
had mentioned. She returned to her brother’s room. The 
doctor was engaged in tying a ligature of the wounded 
artery ; he had neither eyes nor ears for anything else. 
She bade Elizabeth remain in the room. Elizabeth durst 
not without Mary. She bade Mary remain also. She her- 
self ran down-stairs, threw a knitted hood over her curls, 
opened the door and went out on to the gravel. The 
diminished moon was still the only light in the sky ; it 
peered at her through the bare upper branches of an ancient 
oak like a wan distorted face looking through prison bars. 
There was a little singing wind among the trees and it was 
bitterly cold. She could see no shape of man or woman. 
Her hope kept saying, u Surely he won’t do this or that,” 
and her fear kept saying, u Surely he will.” She ran to the 
gate and looked up and down the road. The labourers had 
begun to gather to their work. There was the rumble of a 
wheelbarrow in the yard, the bark of the sheep-dog, the 
thud of a flail, and now and again a man’s chuntering win- 
ter-morning voice; but no human shape in sight save one 
woman coming quickly down the road. Lois started to 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


293 


meet her, stopped, started again, between an impulse and a 
shame. It was Nell Rideout. 

“ Why hae yer sent my brother to his death ? ” she said 
sternly. 

“ What do you mean ? I never intended But, oh, 

why did he shoot my brother ? ” 

“ He none did.” 

“ Arthur said he did.” 

w Can he see wee’s back ? For that’s where he were 
shot.” 

u If he didn’t do it, why, oh, why did he go ? ” 

u Ax me what yo don’t know.” 

“ Fetch him again, Miss Rideout.” 

u I can’t, I’ve tried ; yo sent him.” 

“ Come with me.” 

Nell took the proffered hand in her large grasp and both 
sped up the road together. They would have overtaken 
him ; he had been delayed by his colloquy with Nell ; they 
ran and he but walked, though at the brisk pace at which a 
zealous servant goes about his master’s or mistress’s bid- 
ding ; they would have overtaken him, but just as Nell 
joined hands with Lois a thought had come into his head, 
a treble twine of recklessness, mere whim and pure good- 
nature. If he gave himself up to the sport of justice there 
would be that reward of fifty pounds offered and nobody 
the better for it, whereas if poor old Ned Cliff of the Bot- 
toms, decrepit, wifeless, childless, could claim it it would 
add warmth to the cold kindness of the poor-law overseer. 
He was not in the humour for nice balancing; he imme- 
diately pushed through the high-topped hedge which would 
so thoroughly hide him from view of the road, crossed a 
fallow and a breadth of wheat, and so gained the grassy 
lane which leads down to the Bottoms. 

Nell and Lois ran until the younger and weaker of them 


294 


FOREST FOLK 


was out of breath ; then they walked a little or went be- 
tween a walk and a run until she could run again. At the 
first such break in their running Nell said : 

w What does the doctor say ? ” 

u That there’s a something artery wounded but no need 
for alarm.” 

Rut they saw nothing of Tant. They reached the 
town’s end and still had seen nothing of him. 

u Do you think he would ? ” asked Lois. 

M If he telled yer he would,” answered Nell. 

The heavy-shoed labourers were mustering with the im- 
plements of their war, with sheep-hook and turnip-hack, 
hedge-knife and bill, hatchet and spade and graving tool. 
Each as he passed looked hard at them, then turned and 
looked back at them. The moonlight and the pale trouble 
on their faces were of the same quality ; a man might 
doubt and doubt, saying, u Is it trouble ? Nay, it is the 
moon.” 

They met Josh Jowers; he had tied a sack over his 
smock for warmth to his old shoulders. Now Josh Jowers 
lived hard by the constable. 

K Good-morning, Mr. Jowers,” said Lois. 

Josh touched his hat in passing with a gleam of light in 
his bleared eyes. Nell whispered to Lois and the two 
turned back after the old man. But Lois spoke. Josh 
stopped, but Posh went on showing a contemptuous tail ; 
for which Josh apologised. 

“ ’E’s a dug wi’out any notion o’ manners, miss. Nay- 
ther good advice nor good example tells on ’im. Yo’d 
niver think as the back end of oat could look so contempt- 
ible at yer. ’E’s a ’eart-breaking dug.” 

u Mr. Jowers, have you seen — anybody ” Lois 

dropped her voice. w It’s between you and me.” Josh 
nodded and looked ignorantly knowing. u Have you seen 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


295 

anybody knock at White’s door within the last few min- 
utes ? ” 

w No, miss.” 

“ Yo’d know if anybody had, I suppose ? ” said Nell. 

“ Know ? I couldn’t help. My oad missis sits erklin’ 
ower the fire wi’ ’er face skew to the winder, an’ if nubbut 
a cat goos by she meks a tale on’t.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Jowers,” said Lois heartily, relieved 
of part of her anxiety. 

“Yo’re welcome, miss, welcome.” 

Josh trudged stiffly off after Posh ; Nell drew Lois aside 
into the churchyard. They could easily see over the low 
wall into the street, but were themselves almost invisible in 
the deep shade of the great over-hanging chestnut trees. 

“ Let’s bide here and watch,” said Nell. 

In the east the sky was preparing for the cold coming of 
the sun. Southwards between church and house appeared 
the grey semblance of hill behind hill, mile upon mile of 
phantom scenery. What could Tant be doing ? Would 
he never come ? 

w The doctor will think it strange,” said Lois, u that I 
am not by my brother’s bed.” She mused a little. “ But 
he is not in danger of ” 

She shivered. Nell took the warm shawl from her own 
shoulders and wrapped it round the girl’s slighter form. 
Lois protested against the exchange; for all answer Nell 
drew it tighter about the slim neck and secured it there 
with a big pin. 

u You make me ashamed,” said Lois. 

“I’m accountable to Tant,” said Nell. 

“ Are you afraid of him too ? ” Lois whispered. 

“ I’m nubbut his sister.” 

Both Lois’s little hands sought one of Nell’s large ones 
and held it for the comfort and the warmth. And so hud- 


296 


FOREST FOLK 


died close together they whispered under the dark leafless 
chestnuts. The road was grey-white with the moonlight, 
but darkened every now and then at the passage of labour- 
ing folk, plough-boy in his frock, milkmaid with kit upon 
head. 

“Should you be more afraid of him if you weren’t his 
sister ? ” 

“ I suld if I were his sweetheart.” 

“ Why ? ” 

u I know I suld.” 

“ How ? ” 

u There’s a deal more crying nor laughing about love.” 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ Tish telled me.” 

u How does she know ? ” 

u She’s tried it.” 

There was a pause. Sparrows on the house-eaves ut- 
tered fussy proclamation of their being awake. Then Lois 
whispered lower still : 

w One might be neither, you know ; neither sister 

„„„ » 

nor 

“That ’ud be worst of all. M’appen Tant’s not a very 
stayable lad to be in love wi’, but he’d be a downraight 
terrible fellow to be hafe in love wi’.” 

There was a pause. In that sheltered spot the breeze 
did not stir the shadows, though it sang with a whispering 
shrillness in the high branches of the trees. 

“ But — but ” — Lois faltered, yet went on — “ one might 
be neither wholly nor half, you know.” 

“ Many a one, many a one,” said Nell gravely ; “ but 
not here.” 

There was a soft sigh which only Nell heard, and a 
little trembling movement under the shawl which only Nell 
felt. Presently Lois bespoke attention by the additional 


NEDDY CLIFF’S CAPTURE 


297 

pressure of her trembling hands. Otherwise Nell would 
not have bent her head and heard. 

“ Call me Lois.” 

“ Lois.” 

“ Nell.” 

The younger woman put her lips up childlike to be 
kissed. Both the grey eyes and the hazel were wet with 
tears. Thereupon they heard the shuffling of many feet, 
the sound of many voices. They looked over the wall 
and saw in the ghostly light of neither night nor day, first 
a number of children running, shouting and kicking up the 
dust ; then a mob of men and women, and in the midst of 
them Tant, his arms tied behind him with a rope, the end 
of which was held by old Ned Cliff who hobbled eagerly 
after. One of the men tried to take the rope from Ned, 
but he held on and protested shrilly : 

“ He’s mine ! I copped him ! The reward belongs oad 
Neddy Cliff! ” 

“ If yo touch it again, Spettigew,” said Tant, u I’ll gie 
yer my foot.” 

Nell left Lois in the shade and went out to them. 

Tant’s face became troubled, but he spoke quite calmly, 
almost carelessly. 

u Ho’d a bit, Ned, whilst I talk to my sister. I’ve run 
the rig, Nell.” 

u A sorry rig it is, Tant. She has sent me for you.” 

“ It’s too late, Nell. And I dunno as this could be 
mended anyhow. When we chuck rammel out the gainest 
way’s the best.” 

She whispered: “Couldn’t yo yet For Lois?” 

His knees shook at the name. “I’ll cut the rope and 
unnertake to ho’d Spettigew and Mosley off.” 

“ I wain’t be took in a scuffle, pully-hauly, like a tup- 
penny welsher on a race-course.” 


298 


FOREST FOLK 


Spettigew tugged at her skirts. 

u Yo shan’t be whispering wee ’m no longer,” he 
growled ; u yo mean to witch ’im away as yo did it afore.” 

Tant sprang fiercely at him dragging the rope out of 
Ned’s hands. With all his might and weight he butted his 
right shoulder in Spettigew’s face, and at the same moment 
locking leg in leg hurled the man violently to the ground. 
The others looked on in wonder at such an exhibition of 
strength and dexterity. 

“ Here,” said Tant, “take ho’d o’ the helter, Neddy, and 
grip it tight; m’appen I shan’t be so easy catched next time.” 

The constable and baker, warned by the uproar, came 
bustling out in his shirt-sleeves, holding his staff in his 
floury hand. But Tant did not see him, he had fixed his 
eyes in another direction. Had he caught an unsubstantial 
glimpse of a white face in the thick shade of the church, 
where nobody else saw anything ? Anyhow Nell saw his 
face, both cheek and lip, go all at once as wan as the light, 
and he dropped on his knees in the midst of the road. 

“ Doff my hat off for me, Nell,” he said ; and Nell did so. 

The crowd thought he was saying his death prayer under 
the consecrated shadow of the church, and stood quite still. 
One man took his hat off and another and another, until 
all had bared their heads but old Ned who held the rope, 
and Spettigew who had but just risen with a dusty back 
and a grim and bleeding mouth. But Tant’s chin was not 
on his breast nor his eyes closed ; he kept his head un- 
bowed, his level gaze fixed on the same point of the thick 
shade. Presently he rose. 

“Amen ! ” said Chris Nicholson the Methodist heartily. 

“Now, Tom,” said Tant, “yo may tek me in; but be 
sure and remember that ’twere Neddy here as captured me.” 

“ Ah,” said Neddy, “ twere me as captur’d -’im ; oad 
Neddy Cliff. Wheer’s that theer money ? ” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


TISH MAKES A CALL 

Nell said to Tish on returning to the house, and her 
face was white : u If you don’t do a hand’s chare more, 
yo’ve done a big day’s work a’ready, our Tish, and not 
eight o’clock yet. Yo’ve shot Mr. Skrene for no fault o’ 

hisn ” 

u So ’twere him ? ” 

u And got Tant locked up for’t.” 

u How d’yer mek that out ? ” 

But Nell put kit on head and took piggin in hand and 
went off to her milking; for it was now broad daylight upon 
her trouble, and the moon was but as a puff of white 
vapour floating in the sky. The cows had long forsaken 
their cold dewy pasturage, and stood about the gate of the 
Old Ley lowing and poaching the ground with their heavy 
feet. Tish binged the peggy-tub for the day’s wash, 
lighted a fire under the copper, put out the clothes-line, 
gave the men their breakfast, but ate none herself. Then 
she changed her shoes and dressed scrupulously for out-of- 
doors in her best black silk dress, short-sleeved, low- 
bodiced, full in the skirt, with a black silk handkerchief 
over her ample bosom. Her own mourning bonnet had 
not yet come home, so she borrowed Nell’s which had been 
hastily black-stringed and becraped for Sunday ; a high- 
built bulgy structure as big as a quarten loaf, with a long 
gauzy border that half hid the face depending from the 
brim. Tish stood the proper time before the glass with 
pursed mouth tying the bow, then drew on her long black 

299 


3 °° 


FOREST FOLK 


silk gloves up to her elbows, fastened the clasp of her long 
black mantle and went down-stairs. Nell had returned 
with her full kit. 

w I’ve had to tek your bonnet,” she said. 

Nell nodded. 

w It seems ridic’lous small ; it scarce hafe covers my 
face. And I never did admire the style on’t, even when 
’twere fashionable. How does it look behint ? ” 
u It’ll do,” said Nell. 

u A poor 4 do ’ too, I reckon. A cross o’ velvet i’ th’ 
front ’ud improve it. We wain’t wesh your sheets this 
week, being as we’ve such a heavy wesh.” 

Then she turned again to say : “ If I don’t coom back 

i’ reasonable time, yo moot get Hannah to help.” 

“ Sail Medders telled me she’d had one of her bad bouts 
i’ th’ night.” 

“M’appen Walker’s Molly ’ud coom.” 
w I might send an’ ax.” 

But once started it was not long before Tish stood at the 
door of the High House and asked for Miss Skrene. She 
was in the parlour, as far as she could get from an un- 
touched breakfast. Tish strode three steps in, waited until 
the door was closed, and then said : 

“ I’ve coomed to gie mysen up. ’Twere me as shot your 
brother, not our Tant.” 

w Oh, Mrs. Gillott, how came you to do it ? ” 
u Hae yo axed him ? ” 

M No, he’s so very weak.” 

u Ax him first. Mebbe hisn ’ll be the handsomest side 
o’ the tale.” 

“ The doctor says that it’s a serious wound, and if it had 
been higher it might have been very serious.” 

“ I didn’t aim higher.” 
w Then you really did it on purpose ? ” 


TISH MAKES A CALL 


3 01 


u I’m not one o’ them poor wezzling craturs who let 
fire-arms off by mishap.” 

“ You shot my brother ? on purpose ? ” 

She said the words, conscious all the time that her anger 
was inadequate. But she was so tired, so tired ! 

w If I’d knowed it was your brother, maybe I might ha* 
lowered the muzzle a tinety bit more, but I didn’t. Now 
do what yo will wi’ me ; I’m here.” 

u I don’t want to do anything. But oh, Mrs. Gillott, 
what a heap of trouble you’ve caused ! ” 

u If ’twere to do again, I’d do’t. But m’appen, as I 
said, an inch or two lower. That’s all I’ve got to say. 
I’m here.” 

Lois slowly sadly shook her head. Her despairing face 
began to affect Tish. 

“ Yo tek on too much about this, lass. At that distance, 
i’ that part, it couldn’t be so very tickle. What does that 
nummy of a doctor say to ’t ? ” 

“ He speaks favourably.” 

“Yo look as white as a sheet; yo hain’t eaten your 
breakfast.” 

Lois looked with horror at the food. 

“ Have you eaten yours ? ” 

“ Mine, lass ? ” Tish seemed almost disconcerted by 
the rejoinder. She stood a little before she continued. 
“ What’s thisn o’ yourn against the sore wownd we ha’ 
gotten ? We’ve no call to eat. Our gret-granmam would 
ha’ been a hundred coom spring, our Tant’s nubbut twenty 
and a month, and this same black ’ll do for ’em both. It’s 
a saving, yo’ll say ; but we’re not so keen.” 

It was more than Lois could bear; she sank back into 
the chair that she had risen from, covered her face up with 
her hands and broke into sobs, those dry and scanty sobs 
which give so little ease to pain. Tish stood her distance, 


3°2 


FOREST FOLK 


surprised, perhaps a little resentful, as though her due of 
emotion had been given away to a stranger. But presently 
the girl’s not appealing appealed to her j she went up to 
her, saying : 

w A little cant like yo wants to hae it mother alius by.” 

But she laid her hand not at all roughly on the girl’s 
head. 

“ I have no mother ; I wish I had.” 

“Tant lost hisn afore he could do wi’out her. Co’, co,’ 
it mootn’t cry.” 

u It was I, Mrs. Gillott ; I made him go.” 

u Who go wheer ? ” 

“To prison. I told him and he went.” 

“Tant?” 

“Yes! I!” 

It was as though the passage of the words had opened 
a way through for tears ; the cheeks that had been dry were 
wet. 

“ A little bit of a pale scaddle thing like yo ? Who’d 
ha’ tho’t it ? ” 

“ It was wicked, it was wicked of me ! ” 

“ It was.” 

But the touch of the hand was still light on the head. 

“A pair o’ dark eyes an’ a pretty Lunnon frock, and 
noat else as yo might say ! It was wicked. Look at me ! 
What are yo to me ? But men ne’er scrooched down to 
me. They goo ; as long’s I shove ’em — I’ve a strong pair of 
arms, thank goodness — but when my back’s turned, I’ll tell 
yer how far I can trust ’em : as far as I can blow ’em. 
Co’, co’, yo’re wetting that pretty bit o’ ribbon. It’s wesh- 
day to-day, and the fun’ral to-morrer ; and here stan’ I. Nay, 
my little cant, for one to cry and the tother not to cry ’s no 
company at all. And I hain’t the gift o’ crying mysen. 
There’s whiles I feel the lack on’t.” 


TISH MAKES A CALL 


3 °3 

Presently the tears flowed no faster than they could be 
wiped away. Lois lifted her red eyes and said : 

“ Do you think they’ll let him off again ? ” 

Tish’s face hardened again, as though to put a case about 
her thoughts. 

“There’s locks to doors, God forbid we suld put locks 
to hope.” 

Then pitying the girl’s pale face and the untouched 
breakfast, she did something heroic ; she broke the laws of 
etiquette, which at Blidworth are more generally regarded 
than the laws of God. 

“ I’ll own now I did mek but a skimpy breakfast on’t ; 
we’re alius so throng o’ wesh-days. M’appen if yo were 
to ax me, I could just drink a cup o’ tea.” 

“ I beg your pardon, I ought to have asked before, but — 
pray do.” 

“Thank yer kindly, I will.” 

So Lois set about making fresh tea, and the trivial occu- 
pation did her more good than tomes of Boethius. 

“ I couldn’t think o’ taking your cup,” said Tish. 

“ I will get myself another,” said Lois. She did so, and 
also another plate. “ We’ve only cold meats but I hope 
you’ll partake of something with your tea.” 

“Yo’re very good, but not unless yo’re gooing to keep 
me company.” 

So they both ate a little, and the action of the jaws gave 
their perplexities something of an uneasy rest. 

“ Who says it’s not a strange world ? ” said Tish 
presently. She was feeling the reaction of her boldness. 
“ Yo hedn’t so much as axed me to sit down ! ” 

“ I’m sure I beg your pardon.” 

“ Nay, raight is raight ; I’m not mealy-mouthed, but it’s 
for me to beg yourn.” 

But when she accepted a second cup she seemed to 


3o 4 FOREST FOLK 

suffer a return of the scruple. She gave a grim laugh and 
said : 

u What would Sarah Wilkinson say ? ” 

u I don’t know,” said Lois. 

u M’appen yo don’t know Sarah Wilkinson ? ” 

“ I don’t.” 

u There’s a deal i’ that. But it gets me that the on’y 
day I’ve ever had bite or sup i’ this house is the day I let 
blaze at the master on’t.” 

Lois could not understand where her anger had gone ; 
she made search for it, tried to account for its absence. 
“You wouldn’t have done if you’d known.” 

Tish swallowed down the dry morsel in her mouth. 
u I suld. But maybe a tinety bit lower i’ th’ leg.” 

“ I think you take sugar and cream, Mrs. Gillott ? ” 

And so the needful question caulked the unnecessary 
sob. 

“ Yo’d think ’twere the end o’ th’ world,” said Tish ; 
u it’s wesh-day to-day and to-morrer’s the fun’ral, and me 
here ! ” 

Again she said, w That’s a pretty sleeve o’ yourn ; I’ve 
never seed oat like it i’ th’ Mansfield shops.” 
u It was sent me from London.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

Soon after Tish rose and said : 

u Those two wenches o’ yourn, lass, are like nobody 
else’s i’ this world or they’re be slithering all this blessed 
morning away. Yo moot goo now and wakken ’em up. 
I’m for the wesh-tub.” 

She went, but seemed to suffer from an after-rush of pity 
for the disconsolate face she left behind ; she came back a 
dozen yards and kissed it on the top of the steps. Lois 
kissed her back, and said betwixt old timidity and new con- 
fidence : 


TISH MAKES A CALL 


3°5 


w Will you let me not be afraid of you next time ? ” 

u If you durst.” 

****** 

Tongues went faster than hands that morning in crew- 
yard and field as well as kitchen. Selby and Wells, 
Spettigew and the thrasher were gathered in the little barn, 
where the thrashing had to be done until the great barn was 
rebuilt. There was no work doing but each man held fast 
his token of it, Spettigew and his mate their flails, Wells 
the large coe with which he had been mucking out the 
stables ; Selby being foreman had nothing but his authority. 
Spettigew had been giving them a pretty full description of 
Tant Rideout’s capture by old Ned Cliff, passing by how- 
ever the rebuff his own strength had received. 

w Knelt i’ th’ middle o’ th’ road,” he was repeating, 
“ an’ said ’is prayers.” 

“ That’s funny ! ” said Selby. 

w It cops me,” said Wells. 

“ I’ the middle o’ the road,” said Spettigew. “ If folk 
mun pray — I say noat agen’t — let ’em pray in-doors. Nub- 
budy dresses hissen i’ th’ middle o’ th’ road. It een’t 
nat’ral.” 

u I were at a camp-meetin’ once o’ th’ Ranters,” said 
Wells. 

u This warn’t no camp-meetin’. O’ coorse a lot o’ folk 
prayin’ out o’ doors is different to one man braungein’ an’ 
tekkin’ it all on hissen.” 

u O’ coorse,” said Wells. 

u Besides it een’t the time o’ year for camp-meetin’s.” 

“ God A’mighty,” said Coy the thrasher, “ can’t be ex- 
pected to stan’ about i’ the road these co’d dark mornin’s 
on the off chance of a hafe-frozzen prayer or two ; it een’t 
reasonable.” 

With his lean arms he swung his flail over his head and 


FOREST FOLK 


3°6 

banged the swipple down thud ! on the oat-straw before 
him ; then stood and listened again. 

“ What d’yer think to that ? ” said Spettigew, when he 
had finished his story. 

u He mun a bin droonk,” said Selby. 

u M’appen,” said the thrasher, u he’s made a bargain wi’ 
Ned to divide the reward atween ’em.” He smiled a dry 
lean toothless smile. w Five an’ twenty pound ! None 
on’s would be cheap at that market.” 

Again he struck one blow with his flail, then stood and 
listened. 

“ It’s my opinion,” said Spettigew, “ it’s a fetch o’ hisn. 
He belongs a fam’ly that’s as deep as deep.” 

“ He does that,” said Wells. 

“What ’e means I don’t say, but depend your life on’t 
’e reckons in that ’e’s got a witch in his fam’ly to help ’im 
out.” 

tc Nay, not now,” said Selby ; u she’s dead.” 

“She’s dead, an’ she’s alive.” 

“ Coom, how d’yer mek that out ? ” 

“ Yo shall judge. My missis were sadly ofF last night, 
an’ as she didn’t sleep very well neither didn’t I. ’Owiver 
if I were awake I were awake, an’ if I were asleep I were 
waked, an’ I heerd a ran-tan outside like the gallop of a 
thousand hosses. I ups an’ peeps out the winder, an’ I 
sees a woman ridin’ a hoss as looked an’ galloped like no 
human cratur. They went by like a flash o’ lightning. It 
were pitch-black, there warn’t no light, but I seed ’em as 
plain as plain. I belders out, an’ the missis joomps oop, 
an’ she’s took very badly, an’ the devil of a time I hed wi’ 
her. What d’yer think to that ? ” 

“ If yo can’t ride a-days,” said the lean thrasher, “ it’s 
summat to ride a-nights.” 

“ Who were’t ? ” said Selby. 


TISH MAKES A CALL 


3°7 


“ I know,” said Spettigew, but did not say who. 

“ The mester were shot i’ th’ night an’ all,” said Wells 
ponderingly, like one who is trying to reduce odd numbers 
to a reckonable two and two. 

“Nubbudy knows why or wherefore,” said Selby. “I 
call that strangely odd.” 

“ What d’yer think, surries ? ” 

They all turned ; it was Jack Harris the wagoner, who 
stood in the doorway and spoke. 

“ I met a Fishpool chap t’other end o’ the town, an’ ’e 
telled me as ’e’d heerd as Deb Foat’s gone welly nigh off’n 
’er ’ead. She ho’ds to’t as ’er Ben were carried off i’ th’ 
night by the devil i’ th’ likeness of a tom-cat. This is 
trewth, Ben’s nowheer to be fun’ ; up an’ down they’ve 
searched.” 

“ The devil were bound to hae him i’ some shape or 
form,” said the thrasher. 

The others kept silence for a space. A prickly shudder 
ran down each back, not positively disagreeable in the half- 
day of the barn, for between Jack’s shoulders and the lintel 
there was a glimpse of the unmistakable sunshine outside. 
After a while Selby, who was slow but pertinacious, ad- 
dressed Spettigew. 

u Who were’t yo seed, Bill, of hoss-back ? ” 

w I dunno as I shall tell yer; yit. But I’ll be even wee 
’er afore I’ve done. It were for sich uns as Blid’orth laws 
were made.” 

He flung up his flail and began to thrash. The oat- 
straw crackled, the chaff flew. Jack went away, but the 
other men stood, seeming to take it for granted that Spetti- 
gew had not done speaking. Presently he stopped for a 
moment, while he said over his shoulder : 

“ I niver liked them fraunfreckles about ’er eyes ; nor yit 
the colour of ’er ’air ; there’s a touch o’ hell fire about it.” 


308 


FOREST FOLK 


Again he thrashed with his back to them ; the dust rose, 
the chaff flew, the men looked on. Suddenly he ceased, he 
turned, he came back to them, and leaning forwards on the 
hand-staff said in that tone in which a secret is uttered : 

“’Twere Roideouts’ Nell. But ” 

With the unspoken menace in his eyes, of that dull ob- 
stinate dangerous sort which shows no light and little heat, 
he went back to his thrashing and smote as though he were 
smiting Nell to her death. 

“ We shall bang along wee’t to-day, oh so gaily oh ! ” 
said the thrasher; and he too resumed his labour. 

Wells shuffled off to his stable, Selby went down into 
the fields ; not another word was said. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


foat’s message 

Half-way between nightfall and bedtime Deb Foat 
knocked at the back door of High House and asked to see 
the master. Her nerves were still much shaken and she 
durst not have ventured out at night alone, so Dick Dun- 
stan the pensioner had donned his cocked hat and gallantly 
escorted her thither. At that moment he was standing at 
ease against the gate-head awaiting her return. Lois had 
her brought into the parlour, and saw a dirty blowzy slat- 
ternly woman, slipshod at the heel, betowzled as to the 
head, and looking none the better about the eyes for her 
two broken nights. Of course Lois told her that it was 
impossible for her to see Mr. Skrene. What did she want 
with him ? She hummed and haed and halted, and said it 
was summat very partic’lar, but if she couldn’t see the 
mester — Lois again said it was quite impossible — she sup- 
posed it mun wait while she could. She sniffed and sniffed 
again, which may have been in repression of a tear or 
merely for want of a handkerchief, and she sat ill-poised on 
the edge of the chair which Lois had placed for her. 

“ Mr. Skrene is ill in bed,” said Lois. 

“Ah, so I’ve heerd tell, miss. Well” — sniff — U I 
promised Ben faithful” — sniff and sniff again — “but if 
the mester’s so badly of coorse it wain’t do for ’im to be put 
about for sich as me. So I’ll be gooin’, miss, an’ thank yer.” 

She talked of going but did not look at the door. 

“ What is your business with Mr. Skrene ? Couldn’t 
you explain it to me ? ” 


309 


3 10 


FOREST FOLK 


“ No, miss, thank yer kindly all the same ; I dussn’t ; 
Ben swore me ower and ower again to tell nub’dy but the 
mester. An’ — an’ — after two sich nights ” — sniffing would 
not serve, she fairly blubbered — u oh, sich nights, miss ! 
Nubbut two on ’em ! an’ I seem to can’t mind noat else; 
they might be years an’ years. No, I feel as I dussn’t do 
noat wrong so soon. ’Twould be wrong; so soon. Why, 
miss, I feel a this ’ow, I feel as if I’d turn religious for one 
good night’s rest, an’ niver enjoy mysen no more.” 

But she stayed her sobs and smeared her tears over her 
face with her grimy hands ; she looked up, and a ray of 
cunning hope shone foggily through her red eyelids. 

“Would it be wrong, think yer, miss, for me to false- 
sweer mysen, if a lady like yo axed me to ? ” 

u Certainly. I could not think of asking you to do 
that.” 

41 If Ben niver knowed noat ? ” 

44 It would make no difference.” 

44 But Ben’s non sich a out-o’-th’-way good character 
hissen, miss.” 

44 I’m sorry to hear that ; but that makes no difference.” 

44 I’ll lay oat, miss, Ben in ’is ’eart niver expected me to 
fow-convenience mysen.” 

44 Then I hope you’ll do better than he expected. 
Won’t you ? ” 

44 1 leave it to yo, miss. Ah well ! ” 

It was the beginning of a checked sob as she rose to go. 
But she had a new thought, a new hope, and did not go. 

“There’s different roads o’ thinkin’, miss; there’s the 
chutch road an’ there’s the chapel road, and there’s Ann 
Pybus the preachin’ woman as has a road to hersen. I’m 
not sayin’, miss, as yourn een’t the best; but any on ’em’s 
good enough for me. M’appen some on ’em thinks 
diff’rent about that? 


FOAT’S MESSAGE 


3 1 1 

“ God doesn’t.” 

u And He’s the gaffer. Ah well ! ” Her eyes were 
soiled springs of tears again. “ I mun goo, miss ; he’s 
waitin’ of me, an’ he’s got nubbut one chaw o’ bacca 
left.” 

“ Mr. Foat ? ” 

“ No, miss ; I don’t deceive yer ; a friend o’ hisn.” 

Lois had little doubt that she came about Tant; her 
heart was beating to know ; yet the parting look she gave 
the poor woman’s smudged and swollen face was mainly 
one of pity. Perhaps Deb saw it and pitied herself the 
more for seeing it ; or perhaps the appearance through the 
open door of the starless night, seeming all the blacker 
from the lighted hall, reinforced her terror. She turned 
again and said : 

“ Miss, I’ll tell yer. If it’s wrong, I mun begin to be 
good to-morrer. It’s niver too late, they say. But pass 
another sich night as them two I dussn’t. Don’t stop me, 
miss, please. I dussn’t. Talk about cats ! and talk about 
devils ! After all it’s nubbut a bit o’ splauge for sich uns as 
me to talk about the raights an’ the wrongs o’ things. I’ll 
tell yer. It’s about Roideouts’ Tant.” 

Lois turned pale and trembled. 

“You’d better come into the room,” she said. 

“ If yo wain’t stop me, miss.” And she rattled on as 
she went. u Ben’s sorry he e’er hed oat to do wi’ th’ job. 
He weshes his hands on’t. He withcalls all he’s swore. 
Fifty poun’s a lot of money, but a good night’s rest’s 
worth it all. He says yo've no call to be hard on Tant, 
miss ; he says be acted proper by yo.” 

“Stop.” 

“ I knowed yer’d stop me, miss,” said Deb sorely 
aggrieved. 

“ I wonder if — I wish the doctor was here.” 


3 12 


FOREST FOLK 


u Oh, he’s not stret-laced at all, miss ; he can talk ac- 
cording to his comp’ny, whativer that may be, I assure 
yer.” 

u I wasn’t meaning that ; I was wondering whether he 
would consider my brother strong enough for the inter- 
view.” 

u Now I’ve begun, miss, I mun keep on. Mebbe it’s 
wrong, but i’ th’ night I’m a deal more afeared o’ th’ devil 
nor o’ God. That’s trewth.” 

“You shall speak. Only wait a minute.” 

Lois went out of the room and up-stairs. She ran, but 
her heart went faster than her feet. In her eagerness she 
was above all tender of the woman’s conscience. She en- 
tered her brother’s room. He was stretched upon his bed ; 
the pallor of his cheeks made the darkness of his eyes and 
hair the more noticeable. 

u How do you feel now, dear ? ” she said. 

But his eyes saw before his tongue answered. 
u What is it ? ” he asked with a bloodless voice. 

“ Do you feel stronger, dear ? ” 

“ Yes. Tell me.” 
u Can you bear it ? ” 
u I can bear anything but being put off.” 
u A messenger has come and she has promised to deliver 
her message only to you. I wondered, if you were to lie 
still and I were to do all the talking, whether you would be 
strong enough to hear what she has to say.” 

“Who is it?” 

“ Foat’s wife.” 

Their eyes had met in the quick repartee of question 
and answer long before the sound was framed. 

“ About ?” 

“ Mr. Rideout.” 

“ Bring her up.” 


FOAT’S MESSAGE 


3*3 

w You really, dear, consider yourself strong enough ? ” 

u I mean to be, Loie.” 

44 I wish I knew what the doctor would say.” 

u You shall ask him to-morrow.” 

u But you’re not to speak, only to listen.” 

“ Yes.” 

u And you’re to keep your eyes quiet.” 

44 Yes, yes.” 

Lois, still wondering what the doctor would say and 
halting between ought and ought not, fetched Mrs. Foat up 
and placed her in a chair at the bedside. 

44 Now please tell my brother, Mrs. Foat, what you have 
to say ; in as few words as possible.” 

Deb twisted her neck so that she spoke face to face with 
Miss Skrene. 

44 Yo’d a tho’t all the devils in — in the bad place were let 
loose, miss, yo really would. Cats ? I niver heerd no 
mortal cats to touch ’em. Dogs ? It really warn’t hu- 
man.” 

“You’ve something to say about Mr. Rideout ? ” 

44 Ay, miss. I’m not a-gooing to defend what Ben did. 
I’ve no occasion ; he een’t here, an’ it warn’t me. Though 
fifty poun’s a heap o’ money.” 

44 It wasn’t true, what he said against Mr. Rideout ? ” 

44 ’Twere mixed like, miss; like hafe the tales that’s 
telled ; mixed.” 

44 But he had nothing to do with breaking that ma- 
chinery ? ” 

44 What’s the use o’ axing, miss ? I wouldn’t if I were 
yo. ’Tweren’t your machinery; yo’ve noat again Tant 
Roideout. He stood atween yo an’ black mischief that 
night, that ’e did. Besides I niver hed noat to do wi’ sich 
carryings on, so now Ben’s mizzled theer’s nub’dy to tell 


FOREST FOLK 


3H 


u Has Foat gone off? ” asked Arthur. 

u Hush, dear/' said his sister. 

u Ay, sir,” said Deb. 

u Where ? ” asked Arthur, even under his sister’s eye. 

u I dunno, sir. But it’s wheer he’ll niver coom back to 
Blid’orth no more, that I do know.” 

Lois snatched the next question from his looks and 
translated it to Deb. 

“Tell Mr. Skrene why, please.” 

u So’s ’e shouldn’t hae to sweer Tant’s life away; that’s 
the long an’ the short on’t. An’ ’e made me promise to 
coom ’ere, afore bedtime, an’ say this: say as ’ow Tant 
warn’t no willing party to the ’tack on your house ; quite 
the contrairy, Ben heerd ; from a man as war theer; so’e 
hed it from the firm end. He heerd as they put summat 
in’s drink ; ’e were mottled ; ’e didn’t know noat. But as 
soon as he got i’ th’ ’ouse ’e woke up, as sober as co’d 
watter, an’ gollocky ! didn’t ’e lay it on ! ’E didn’t play 
butty ; Ben heerd. There were six on ’em i’ th’ room 
besides Tant an’ yoursen — tell me if I’m a liar, miss — an’ 
’e took the table up as if ’twere a wooden lader, an’ scooped 
the hull hafe-dozen out at winder wee’t. Ben heerd tell.” 

Lois’s hand was on his arm, Lois’s eye anxiously scanned 
his face. 

“ Are you no worse, dear ? ” 

u Not in the least.” 

He had really borne it surprisingly well. 

“An’ while Tant were inside tow-rowing on ’em, his 
Nell were outside, of hoss-back — trewth’s trewth— lashin’ 
out again ’em like the mad madam she is.” 

Lois was quick to see the change in his face. 

“ It won’t do, dear. It’s doing you harm.” 

“ Go on ! ” he said imperatively. 

“She druv ’er hoss clean through an’ through ’em, 


FOAT’S MESSAGE 


3*5 

knockin’ ’em silly, till they were glad to scaddle. There 
were brucken limbs too — Ben heerd tell.” 

“ How did he get his own leg broken ? ” 
u I niver heerd, sir ; I’d no curiosity to ax ; ’twere 
enough for me it were brucken. How she could I can’t 
think. It warn’t like a woman; not if I’m a woman. But 
some upho’ds she’s a witch.” 

u I think she must be,” Arthur muttered to himself. 
u Well, now I’ve made a clean breast on’t. Yo may tell 
the Gen’ral it’s no good expectin’ Ben to coom back, for 
’e niver will ; if I know oat ’e niver will. ’E didn’t run 
away, ’e flew. They might as well sit on a gate an’ gawp 
for swallers. So they’ve no occasion to keep Tant i’ jail 
not a minute longer.” 

Again Lois was quick to anticipate the question. 
cc I’ll tell you presently, dear; in quiet.” 

“ An’ now, miss, please, theer’s somebody a-waitin’ of me.” 
At the open door it seemed that the woman’s . fear came 
back again like a whiff of cold in-rushing night air. 

u I’ve nubbut telled one lig — to speak on — in all I’ve 
spoken to-night, miss,” she said anxiously ; u nubbut one. 
D’yer think it ’ud be noticed ? ” 

“ Somebody has noticed it.” 

“ Then I withcall it. ’Twere about Ben’s leg. There’d 
be no sense i’ gettin’ mysen into a lumber about him, now 
’e’s gone. That’s all. I trust they' 11 be jannock wi’ me. 
But Dick’s waitin’, miss. And ’e’s a bad waiter, like most 
men. Good-night, miss.” 

Lois did not return at once to her brother’s room. It 
would not be correct to say her hesitation was entirely in 
consideration of her brother’s health. Still it was but a de- 
lay of a few minutes, so Arthur need not have said impa- 
tiently as soon as she entered : 

“ What a long time you’ve been ! ” 


3*6 


FOREST FOLK 


M Won’t to-morrow do, dear ? ” 

Her lips were white, her voice faint. 

“You know it won’t.” 

She went to his bed-head to smooth his pillow, and being 
there remained. He could not have seen her face without 
an uncomfortable twist of the neck. 

“ Arthur.” 

“ Well ? ” 

“You weren’t shot by — the person you think.” 

“ Who was it then ? ” 

w You won’t say, ‘Vengeance is mine,’ dear ? ” 

“No; all that seems to have been bled out of me.” 

“ It was Mrs. Gillott.” 

He lay as in a muse awhile ; then said : 

“ But I want to know about that young man. I thought 
you and Miss Rideout were looking after him.” 

“ Oh, Arthur, why did you say he did it ? ” 

“ I thought he did.” 

“ I was angry.” Arthur could but just in the stillness 
catch the words. “ I said something about sending for the 
constable, if I’d had a servant at hand.” 

“ Only of course you hadn’t.” 

“ I had. He said I should never — never He went 

himself. Straight to the constable. And ” 

Her eye caught something amiss in the arrangement of 
the bottles of liniment and lotion on the wash-hand table ; 
she went aside and rectified it. 

Arthur mused. He had feared lest his sister’s generous 
gratitude should commit her too far in Tant’s cause; but 
that was quite a new thought which had just struck him, 
with a suddenness which would have been a shock but for 
the brain-numbing debility which possessed him. The 
bottles made a little chink. He said just audibly to a fine 
ear : 


FOAT’S MESSAGE 


3i7 

w I could understand it, if ” 

Lois knelt before the fire, and taking the little brush that 
hung by the chimney swept the hearth-stone clear of ashes. 
The uncertain glow of the fire was insufficient to colour 
her paleness. Arthur mused the languid musings of a sick 
man. At last he said as faintly as before : 

U I can’t understand it. Unless ” 

Lois rose from her knees. 

u I am going to fetch your supper now, dear.” 
w Not yet. I couldn’t eat yet. I heard the doctor say, 
c It saved your brother’s life; man’s or woman’s, it saved 
his life.’ I’ve wondered, but I haven’t asked. Now I 
do ask.” 

Lois fetched Nell’s garter and laid it on the coverlet be- 
fore him, a fabric of homespun yarn plainly knitted and 
undyed. His eyes scanned it from end to end. 

“ It was tied round your leg, dear.” 
w What is that in the corner ? I can’t see.” 

M There’s an H and an R, dear.” 

w You needn’t move it; it’s no weight. Put the candle 
out ; the light tires me.” 

Lois extinguished the candle. She stood by the hearth ; 
the fickle firelight was on her clasped hands but not on her 
face. The ticking of the old clock in the hall could be 
distinctly heard through the closed door ; there was a low 
bee-like buzz of women’s voices from some distant room. 
w What are you doing, Loie ? ” 
u Nothing.” 
u Come and sit by me.” 

She went and sat by him and held one of his hands. 
The flickering firelight playing over the carpet with noise- 
less kitten-like tread seemed to be the only living thing ; 
yet those two heads, one low on the pillow, the other only 
less than erect by a slight droop, were each a crowded city 


FOREST FOLK 


3i8 

of thoughts. Lois’s reverie was a maid’s and inviolable; 
Arthur’s was the ravel of a sick man’s fancy. Yet amid all 
its inwoven intricacies certain scenes presented themselves 
to him again and again, without order but always with the 
same simple distinctness. A woman on her knees; her 
face besought, her words were few. A woman the centre 
of a sunset’s magnificence. A woman in a lawless night- 
crowd, managing a plunging horse; the face was from him, 
but he knew the horsemanship. A woman in a white trail- 
ing bed-gown under the stars. A woman in a court of 
justice saying, u I will never kneel no more to man.” And 
again a woman on her knees. It was after many such re- 
currences that he said in a sick man’s voice that but just 
pierced the vaporous walls of his muse : 
w She knelt to me, Loie.” 

Lois made no answer, no answer seemed possible. 
Through his passively busy brain the diorama moved in- 
tricately inconsecutive ; until at last again he said : 
w She’ll never kneel to me again.” 

Lois made no answer, unless it were with the hand that 
was upon his hand. Time went on ; the firelight that had 
danced upon the floor now flew and frolicked on the walls 
and ceiling. Sometimes it touched, sometimes it left, the 
garter which still lay on the white coverlet. It would 
seem that the weakness which had relaxed Arthur’s 
muscles had also loosened the strings of his reserve. He 
said : 

“ Do you believe in witches, Loie ? ” 
u I thought I didn’t. Do you, dear ? ” 

“ I used not.” 

She stole her hand away and went down for his supper. 


CHAPTER XXX 


DEPARTURES 

The eldest of the Rideouts was carried up the long steep 
ascent to the churchyard on the stalwart shoulders of her 
neighbours, and buried with every decency. Tish and 
Nell and other relatives walked on either side of the coffin 
with heads bent, draped in scarves of black silk, in the one 
hand a wand, in the other a white linen handkerchief. 
Three generations were represented there ; the sole survi- 
vor of the fourth and nearest wept at home, blind tears. 
The mourners stood around the open grave during the 
solemn ritual, and at the Amen to the final benediction 
dropped their handkerchiefs into it. It was an old custom 
in the family. The creeping of black and white up and 
down the hill could be seen afar. Spettigew saw it from 
High Farm and did not think the parish had gained much 
by the loss. 

“ We’re shut of a blair-eyed oad witch,” he grumbled to 
Wells, “as couldn’t hardly hotchel across the floor, and 
we’ve gotten a young un, wi’ eyes like a hawk’s, as can 
run and ride wi’ most. Yo’ll heer summat. And afore 
long.” 

Ben Foat never came back to Blidworth to fulfil his 
obligations to legal justice. Nothing certain was ever 
known of his after history ; there was all the more room 
for hearsay and conjecture, which then and for years after 
fluttered doubtfully between mouth and ear; that he had 
walked all the way to the Trent in order to drown himself 
commodiously ; that he had given in by the way — Ben was 

319 


3 20 


FOREST FOLK 


always fierce to begin, slack at the finish — and hung him- 
self in a hovel belonging to a man of the name of Smith ; 
that he had gone into the cat’s-meat trade at Manchester ; 
had enlisted in the fifty-ninth or the ninety-fifth; had died 
of the smallpox ; had emigrated to America at his own 
expense, to Botany Bay at the public ; and so on and so on 
whenever and because gossip tired of the high prices of 
wheat and war. 

Tant was remanded again and again and spent Christmas 
in jail ; but Arthur Skrene refused to be certain enough to 
bear the full weight of a conviction ; if anything he got 
less certain the more certainty was required of him ; while 
the carrier would not swear to anything but what his wife 
said when he got home. 

Tant was sounded as to his willingness, if he were re- 
leased, to fight for his country abroad ; but he refused to 
discuss the matter. “ I wain’t ’list,” he said, “ wi’ a helter 
round my neck.” So in the end the magistrates were 
compelled to dismiss the information and discharge the 
prisoner. 

General Deene talked to him afterwards in the magistrate’s 
room at Mansfield in language which was a blend of the 
judge, the squire, the soldier and the sportsman. 

u You’ve had a very narrow escape, young man. I hope 
it will be a warning to you. I don’t think it will. Prob- 
ably you know better than I where this witness has gone, 
and why. But don’t forget he may return. You can’t 
square a man like Foat; he’s too doughy to keep his 
corners. What are you going to do ? ” 

“ I might stop at home, sir, and work the farm.” 

“ In short, do as you have done ? ” 

M Do as I hain’t done.” 

w A monstrous good resolution. Only remember we 
can’t shift the Lay Cross and Will Scarlett out of walking 


DEPARTURES 


3 2 


distance. For one thing you’re too good a walker. Be- 
sides Foat may come back. He’s sure to come back. 
Unless you’ve put him out of the way ? Well, which 
should you prefer, to be shot at at sixpence a day or 
hanged for nothing ? ” 

“ That’s no great choice.” 

u Lucky for you it’s not narrower.” 

“ There are my sisters.” 

u They’ll be infinitely better of without you than with 
you.” 

To which, being unanswerable, Tant made no answer. 

“ So would the parish. So would your country ; whether 
you survive or don’t. Think about it.” 

“ I will. Though if there warn’t a war on I’d as lief 
be hanged. I feel no call to be a barrack-booby, kicked 
here, cuffed there, goshawking on furlough, snuffing after 
kitchen-wenches, baugeing i* tap-rooms. But I’ll think 
about it.” 

u If Foat should come back — and a man like him always 
comes back — if he should, out of sight, you know, out of 
mind. A brave soldier fighting for the King is out of reach 
of Tommy White. You’re just the sort the country needs.” 

u The value set on us being sixpence a day, and find 
yoursen in pipe-clay.” 

The General was disappointed in the young man’s spirit ; 
he said coldly : 

u A lad of mettle does not fight for that.” 

w He couldn’t very well faight for less. However if I 
do ’list, sir, it’ll nayther be for the sixpence nor to balk 
Tommy White of his fees.” 

u Whatever your motive I hope you’ll encourage it ; for 
a groat to a guinea that scoundrel comes back. And, by 
Gad, I should be sorry to see the Forest championship de- 
scend to yon Kirkby fellow.” 


322 


FOREST FOLK 


If Tant desired reasons for stopping at home nobody 
helped him to find any. It is a sorry time for a man when 
he discovers that his presence is universally esteemed less 
profitable than his absence. Of course the good friends 
who were willing to part with him may have been think- 
ing more of his welfare than their own convenience ; but 
the fact remained that everybody, as soon as his possible 
departure was hinted at, began immediately to look resigna- 
tion and to talk of it as a settled thing. 

Arthur Skrene began to get about again just after Tant 
was released. He rode down to Low Farm as soon as he 
was able, and most handsomely acknowledged his own in- 
justice and Tant’s services. Tant told him he had some 
thought of entering the army, but if he expected from him 
what he had not got from anybody else he was mistaken. 
Arthur cordially accepting the indecision as a resolve thought 
it excellent and said so. Tant’s reply for once showed a 
trace of bitterness. 

“ For the parish ? I’ve been telled that so often I’ve no 
doubt on’t ; I’m trying to mek out how ’twould square 
wi’ my own feelings. The sojer’s jacket’s a stret un ; it 
wain’t fit nobody without some humouring.” 

“ I should have thought,” said Arthur, meaning to be 
complimentary, “you were just cut out for a soldier.” 

“ That’s what they tell every blackguard thirty-four inch 
round the chest. Cut ? I know I can be cut to fit the 
coat ; I’d rayther the coat were cut to fit me.” 

Within twenty-four hours however he had enlisted in the 
forty-fifth. Nell expressed disappointment that he had not 
preferred a cavalry regiment. His reply showed that he 
had not acted without deliberation. 

“ For my own liking and the looks o’ the thing,” he 
said, “ I suld ha’ chosen to goo on four legs ; but if a man 
puts his liking in his knapsack he moot throw summat out 


DEPARTURES 


3 2 3 

to mek room for’t. And what matters looks ? There’ll 
be nobody there I care a hop about to see me. No, lass, 
I’ve considered this : the hoss-sojer comes on with a fudock 
an’ goos off in a flusker ; it’s on’y the footman as can stan’ 
and faight. Now there’s no true faighting wi’out stanning.” 

But he showed no sign of partaking in the hip-hip- 
hurraing patriotism of the day, either before or after he had 
taken the King’s shilling; rather his eyes had a graver out- 
look, his mouth was drawn to a sterner line, and he 
avoided public notice. There was but one day, as it hap- 
pened, and that was Sunday, between his attestation and the 
despatch of a draft of recruits from Mansfield to the 
regimental depot at Nottingham. Jack Whitehead and 
Nommer Brooks, who enlisted from Blidworth at the same 
time, spent it in flaunting their colours about the village, 
guzzling gratuitous beer and admiration and illustrating by 
turns each of the various valorous moods between half tipsy 
and dead drunk. Tant spent it quietly in-doors at the Mans- 
field inn where he was billeted ; all but four hours and a 
half, two of which he gave to a going and a returning and 
the remainder to Blidworth. Of the latter he measured 
out but the odd half to his friends at home ; and the greater 
part of that he spent in grooming and saddling Ripper the 
colt and in making a complete change in his own dress. 
He did indeed sit down awhile and talk gaily of the 
serjeant’s red-hot nose and language and the peculiarities of 
his comrades ; but as soon as the church bell on the hill 
began to toll he rose. Neither Tish nor Nell asked any- 
thing, but the grandmother said : 

“ Why are ta gooin’ so soon, lad ? ” 

“For a bit of a pike round, granny. Now forgie my 
gooin’ so soon and all my other faults, and say c God bless 
thee ’ as kindly as if ’twere the last time. On’y mind this : 
I coom again to-morrer if the red-beaked serjeant ’ll let me.” 


3 2 4 


FOREST FOLK 


The old dame spoke a tremulous w God bless thee, my 
child.” Her tears wetted the cheeks she kissed ; her mind 
misgave her. If that were not really her last blessing it 
was the very image of it and cast the same shadow. Be- 
tween the loosening of her grandchild’s clasp and the click 
of the door-sneck she saw a mob of noisy foreign deaths 
and one quite homely burial. Blind eyes are terribly far- 
sighted. The furrows on her face were moved as though 
it were a sea in little, leaden grey ; the furrows on her face 
were fixed again, like the dark ridges of a sunless fallow. 
She sat with her hands upon her knees and saw. 

Tish and Nell stood at the gate while he fetched his 
horse round. The sky was clear, the air still and frosty, 
the ground an inch deep in pure white snow, as even as a 
garment. 

“ Yo mun lend me your crop, Nell,” he said. 

Nell went in and fetched it. It was silver-mounted ; his 
own was plain. 

u I’ll send the colt back by Jackson’s Jim or some other 
steady chap. He’s yourn, Nell.” 

“ I’ll tek care on him,” said Nell. 

Not because she did not know, but because she would 
not seem to shirk knowing, Tish said : 

u Yo goo to-morrer ? ” 

“ Ay.” 

u Tek this, lad; it’ll be worth more to yer nor good 
words and wishes.” 

But he refused the purse with ten sovereigns in it which 
she offered him. 

“What I hae to do I can do wi’out that; or not at all. 
I suldn’t wunner if it ’ud buy Johnson’s two-year-oad ; she 
promises to turn out a useful nag.” 

“ She’s on the small side,” said Tish. 

w She’s thick,” said Tant. 


DEPARTURES 


3 2 5 

u Well, we’ll buy her for yer, if Johnson’s oppen to a 
reasonable offer.” 

“And I’ll break her in,” said Nell, u against yo coom 
again.” 

So he kissed them at the gate and said good-bye, sternly 
ordered back Pitcher his terrier who was wild to follow 
him, mounted and rode away. 

u He knows he looks well of hossback,” said Nell. 

At that moment a single funereal rook sailed slowly by 
over Tant’s head. Tish saw Nell’s eyes note it and turn 
away. 

She said, u I hope Cherry-bloom wain’t pick her cauf 
again.” 

But she was not thinking of Cherry-bloom any more 
than Nell was. 

Tant unconscious of the black-winged omen, but his 
heart beating its own tumultuous prophecies, trotted on. 
When he gained the road he looked back without drawing 
rein and waved his right hand with the crop in it. 

u He wouldn’t for a thousand pound be late,” said Tish. 

u He’ll none be late,” said Nell ; u he’ll gallop as soon 
as he’s by the housen.” 

u He wain’t turn again,” said Tish ; u let’s goo in to 
granny.” 

The three women sat by the hearth and comforted one 
another with their silence. The one-syllabled murmur of 
the distant church bell vibrated dimly through their 
thoughts. 

It spoke a kinder summons to Lois Skrene, to whom it 
seemed the friendlier the nearer and louder it sounded. She 
was going to church alone for the last time as she hoped, 
for she expected that by next Sunday her brother would be 
strong enough in the leg to accompany her. Just where 
she turned off from the road to the bridle-path, by the oak 


3 26 


FOREST FOLK 


saplings of Rooke’s new plantation, in that quietest part of 
the way where the snow was untrodden, she met Tant. 
She had not seen him since his discharge. She knew the 
meaning of that bunch of gay ribbons pinned to his hat; 
she knew that he had enlisted ; Nell had told her. He 
stopped his horse, bared his head and bowed ; she curtseyed. 
She was very pale ; she did not speak. She had never 
seen him in saddle before ; she tried to make that account 
for the strangeness she felt. His decent great-coat was 
green, his top-boots brown, his breeches white, his broad- 
brimmed hat black, and his whip was silver-mounted. She 
thought he had never looked so tall and strong and hand- 
some. His being on horseback and so much the more 
withdrawn may have seemed to her the earnest of a part- 
ing. She felt very small herself and a little faint ; she 
would have been glad of something to hold by. She tried 
to think it was the mettlesome horse she was afraid of ; she 
remembered she always had been afraid of mettlesome 
horses. Tant leapt down and stood respectfully at the two 
yards’ distance which separated them. 

u I ax your pardon, ma’am, for the liberty,” he said. 
“ I’ve said good-bye down yonner. It’s the end o’ your 
trouble. I’m gooing away.” 

She was in a strait. If she spoke she felt that she must 
also burst into tears. She was ashamed to do that ; it 
would have been so absurd. She was ashamed to stand 
silent; it was so uncivil. Was ever maiden in a narrower 
strait ? But as she was feeling more and more an inner 
push to be less ashamed of absurdity than of incivility, she 
was saved from both. Round the corner of Rooke’s plan- 
tation trotted five children all in a row, a little girl of seven 
or eight in charge of brothers and sisters ranging down to 
the last toddler. They came along through the snow until 
they were within proper staring distance, four feet in our 


DEPARTURES 


3 2 7 

part of the country, then took their stand round Lois, a 
semicircle of brown-holland pinafores, purple arms, red 
faces, bleached hair and blue eyes. They had not a pocket- 
handkerchief among them; their breaths hung about their 
mouths. A buzzing whisper, w A mester and a lady ! ” 
went round ; then they remained expectantly silent with 
their eyes all fixed on Lois, whom they rightly regarded as 
the centre of interest. She wore a hat with bright-col- 
oured bows and a feather nodding over the high crown; 
her long scarlet mantle, silver-clasped, black-braided, hid 
her hands, and her sable boa fell almost to the ground. 
They longed to take and stroke it and snuggle it to their 
cheeks. It had become impossible for Lois to cry, and at 
the same time easy for her to speak. 

u There is still a little bloom,” she said. 

She pointed to the gorse bushes which flourish in that 
sandy soil, wherever there is a corner left unploughed or a 
margin untrodden. Rarely here and there among the 
white and the green peeped a yellow bud. 

“ Ay,” said Tant, “it never quite goos out o’ bloom; 
according to the by-word.” 
w What by-word ? ” 

He had not expected the question; he had supposed that 
the old proverb was as well known to her as to all the 
country-side. Her eyes waited for his answer. The chil- 
dren shifted theirs from her to him, five pairs of china-blue. 
u Quiet, Ripper, quiet ! ” 

He took out his pocket-knife and cut a spray, the best 
he could find. 

“Would yo accept a sprig, ma’am? It’s prickly to 
handle but it keeps.” 

u Thank you. But the by-word ? ” 

His eyes returned from the flowers to her face. He had 
made up his mind to it. 


3 28 


FOREST FOLK 


w They say, ma’am, it never goos out o’ bloom but when 
kissing goos out o’ fashion.” 

She looking at him and he at her inevitably their eyes 
met. There was a change in both of them ; his ruddiness 
paled, her paleness flushed. He shook the snow off the 
flowers, removed the prickles from the lower part of the 
stem and gave it to her. 

M Thank you.” 

Two poor little words; and a tremble in the voice. 

“ Posay ! ” chanted the youngest of the children. 
w Prettay posay ! ” chanted the three above him. 
u Say c please, mester,’ Georgeay,” said the eldest. 

“ Pease, mester,” chanted the youngest. 
u Please, mester,” chanted the three above him. 

So Tant had quickly to cut, trim and deliver a prickly 
sprig to each of the five. As soon as they had received 
them their interest in them ceased ; they upturned their 
eyes again to Lois, the centre of attraction. Ripper chafing 
at inaction trampled the snow under his impatient hooves. 
u Is your knife sharp ? ” she said. 

“ Pretty well. Would yo please to try it ? ” 

She took the knife, cut a spray and trimmed it as he had 
done; then hesitated. She was afraid of the horse; but 
not so afraid as she seemed to be. She was conscious that 
the five pairs of blue eyes were fixed on her, wondering 
for which of them the flower was intended ; but it was not 
that which made it so hard for her to lift her own ; she 
was trying not to know whether a pair of grey eyes was on 
her and not to care ; or rather not to seem to care. But 
she had the borrowed knife to return ; of necessity, in mere 
honesty. She gave up the knife; and somehow with it in 
the same hand the sprig of gorse was left. That little lift 
of the eyes can hardly be counted ; it was so timid, so un- 
certain, so momentary. 


DEPARTURES 


3 2 9 


“ Thank you/’ 

Two meagre words; with only the emphasis of a strong 
man’s gravity to make them weigh anything at all. He 
put the posy in his buttonhole ; she had hers in her hand 
under her mantle ; the children had already forgotten theirs ; 
they littered the snowy ground. 

“The Frenchies shan’t take it from me,” he said, “whilst 
I live to defend it.” 

“ We’ve got a baby under ’im,” said the seven-or-eight- 
year-old. u ’Er name’s M’ria. She can say moo.” 

Lois looked down and smiled a quick smile ; then looked 
up and the smile was gone. 

“ Oh, why did you ? ” she said in a low troubled voice. 

“Will yo stan’ still, colt? Ma’am, it behooved me to 
do it. It gies me a chance to come back summat different. 
I ayther come back different or I stay there.” 

The youngest but one had snuggled up against Lois’s 
skirts, and was smoothing the pretty boa with a mottled 
hand. The seven-year-old slapped her arm and said : 

“ Bobaw, Sallay ! Naughtay ! ” 

In the moment of silence which ensued the persistent 
church bell succeeded in capturing Lois’s ear. 

“ I’d forgotten,” she said. “ I shall be late for church. 
Were you going, Mr. Rideout ? ” 

No bell that was ever cast, of pure silver or the most 
cunning admixture, ever sounded so sweet an invitation. 

“ I am gooing, ma’am. I doubt where I’m bound there’ll 
not be much plenty o’ churches, but I’ll never miss of a 
Sunday afternoon if one’s anyhow come-at-able. It’ll mind 
me o’ summat. I’d no intention, ma’am, of spoiling your 
walk, but this was the on’y road by which I could goo away. 
Now I’ve my hoss to dispose on. And it’s not for such as 
me to be seen wi’ such as yo. I hae been seen wi’ yer of 
a Sunday afternoon i’ yond street once.” Pain stared from 


33 ° 


FOREST FOLK 


his face. His voice fell to the tone in which men question 
of life and death. “ Ma’am, can watter wesh it away ? ” 

“ No.” 

u Can fire burn it out ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“ The daub mun stick ? Ay, it mun stick.” 

Again she shook her head. 

w There is summat ? ” 

She nodded her head. There was a tear in each of her 
eyes. She saw him through them. He seemed further off, 
and yet nearer. As if at the invitation of her tears his 
own eyes filled and ran over. She must have seen so much, 
for she whispered : 

“ Yes, it is even so.” 

Five pairs of amazed blue eyes could not fix themselves 
either upon her or him, but flitted from one to the other; 
and a busy buzz went to and fro among them, compounded 
of the loud twittering of their whispers and the low hissing 
of their eldest sister’s hushes. 

“ She’s cryin’.” 

“ Sh ! Sh!” 

u An’ Vs cryin’ an’ all.” 

“ Sh ! Sh ! ” 

“ She’s ’urted ’ersen.” 

“ Sh ! Sh ! ” 

“ ’E’s lost ’is knife.” 

“ Sh ! Sh ! ” 

Lois scattered one little smile over their flaxen polls — 
there was a good deal of April wet about it — and a sprin- 
kling of the moist brightness fell on Tant. 

“ Tata, children,” she said, and was answered by a chorus 
of tatas. She turned away; only then did Tant put foot in 
stirrup. 

If there had been only the children she would have 


DEPARTURES 


33i 


looked back once. She only looked back once as it was ; 
at the same time that Tant looked back. There passed no 
sign between them ; only the look. Next moment the colt 
dashed round Rooke’s plantation; she could see nothing 
but the snowy road and the children pointing and looking 
after the vanished horseman. There was a passing touch 
of vanity in her next thought. She wished that he had en- 
listed in the Horse-Guards ; she had seen their bravery in 
London. She carried the sprig of gorse under her mantle. 
The bell ceased tolling. 

The colt romped round Clifty Nook, and Tant was so 
fortunate as. to find Jackson’s Jim dozing on his own 
hearthstone. So without more delay than the taking old* 
of his greatcoat, and the delivering of it and the reins with 
the shortest of explanations into Jim’s hands, he could hasten 
to church close upon Miss Skrene’s steps. She was in the 
porch waiting until the clerk’s squeaky u Lord’s name be 
praised ” should give signal to the congregation to shuffle 
to their feet. They stood there together for a minute in 
company with two or three more laggards. He wore his 
sprig of gorse in his coat, she carried hers under her cloak. 
On their entry into the church he would have humbly 
turned aside to where folk of no account sit in bare un- 
bought seats, but one little finger of the hand that did not 
hold the gorse bade him follow her, and he had to follow. 
She made way at the pew door and let him pass in first. 
Everybody saw. Nobody was surprised. After Josh Jow- 
ers nobody could be surprised ; not even Miss Wilkinson 
the independent lady, who had nothing to do except be sur- 
prised and account for it. 

Yes, one was surprised, and that was Tant himself. He 
was in a sweet amaze, such as troubles a soul new-entered 
into Paradise and strange to its own self. He stood and he 
sat, and did not so much as know whether he stood or sat ; 


33 2 


FOREST FOLK 


only he knew that something was going on in the way of 
heavenly thanksgiving and his heart joined in with great 
pulsations : 

“ All people that on earth do dwell, 

Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice ; 

Him serve with fear, His praise forth tell, 

Come ye before Him and rejoice.” 

It was the second hymn. The familiar words and the 
familiar tune, the u Old Hundredth,” and the sweet un- 
familiarity of the voice — he heard but one voice — pierced 
the mist that obscured his happiness. He added his bari- 
tone to her tremulous treble, at first softly, tentatively, soon 
resolutely, strongly, now in unison, now in harmony, sus- 
taining it, embellishing it. 

“ The Lord ye know is God indeed, 

Without our aid He did us make ; 

We are His flock, He doth us feed, 

And for His sheep He doth us take.” 

So they sang. The walls widened out, the people and 
the surpliced man disappeared ; there was no roof between 
them and the sky. 

It was only four verses. If it had been forty she would 
not have tired, so much did that other voice uphold hers. 
But the song ceased. The walls came back ; the people 
reappeared, if mistily; the surpliced man mumbled a text ; 
there was again a roof, but it had a skylight in it, through 
which came a glimpse of the outer sunshine. 

The preacher’s voice was like that of a man calling to 
another man on the distant hillside. She was passionately 
fond of music; and that Tant could sing so tunefully gave 
a new delight to her, a fresh hope. She sat like one who 
has a strangely interesting book in his lap with many pages 
yet unturned. He has lifted his eyes, he has folded his 


DEPARTURES 


333 

hands, and is musing of what he has read and what is yet 
to read. 

By and by the preacher’s voice came down from the hill- 
side. She knew he was talking about Abraham and Isaac, 
which is all she ever knew about it. But she calmed down ; 
the flutter of her hopes and fears ceased. I believe that 
for the time being, that short time being she was quite 
happy. She saw through the window in the roof; she re- 
garded neither the past nor the future ; she was as God 
is, who has only a present. 

M Now unto God the Father, God the Son and God the 
Holy Ghost — ” and so forth. 

The transition, the bustle of uprising disturbed her as 
though she had been hustled out of the sanctuary into the 
street. 


" O God, our help in ages past.” 

It was now Tant’s voice that called on hers, which made 
but a feeble response. The tune was “ St. Ann,” majes- 
tically major, with but that hint of the minor in it which 
human singing shall hardly escape ; but her notes quavered, 
her thoughts wailed throughout. The time was so short. 
He heard her voice falter, and at the fifth verse fail alto- 
gether. 

“ Time, like an ever-rolling stream, 

Bears all its sons away.” 

But he sang manfully on, unisonally, encouragingly, 
singing what he could not say, thinking what he could not 
sing. 

“ O God, our help in ages past, 

Our hope for years to come.” 

And so to the last loud Amen ! She was glad to drop 
on her knees. She seemed to lose herself there ; she did 


334 


FOREST FOLK 


not rise when the others did. Tant, feeling rather than 
seeing it, continued to kneel beside her. The other wor- 
shippers dribbled out ; they remained hidden away in the 
high pew. Only Miss Wilkinson scanned them over the 
door, as she went by, in thin-lipped displeasure. As she 
understood it, when the parson had pronounced the benedic- 
tion God’s audience was closed. 

At last they were alone ; preacher and preached-to, all 
had gone. Or perhaps there was the shuffling of some un- 
seen clerk in some obscure corner. Then she rose and let 
him pass. The last rays of the setting sun whitened the 
memorial tablets on the wall in front of them. She put the 
prayer-book she had been using in his hand. She did not 
look at him, but her cloak opened and showed that she still 
held the little sprig of gorse. As soon as he had passed 
she sank to her knees again. He went forth softly, so that 
if it were possible she should not hear him going. He did 
not look back ; he was a soldier already. 

In the road the snow had already been trodden and de- 
filed by many feet. He saw Jack Whitehead and Nommer 
Brooks being led about brutally drunk, propped by a man 
at each elbow, with a half-mocking half-applausive rabble 
at their heels. His heart fled back to the still church and 
knelt beside Lois. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


VOX POPULI 

All through February men were shut in between white 
earth and grey sky. Towards the end of the month 
Spettigew’s wife died ; the doctor said because of the ex- 
treme cold acting on a weak heart and low vitality ; 
Spettigew said because the young witch was stronger than 
the old one. He had never shown his wife any tenderness 
while she lived ; that did not hinder the gush of a tear or 
two at the grave, nor the proper funeral feeling, as of an 
interpolated and duller Sunday, for the rest of the day ; 
until in the evening he went out and got drunk. During 
the whole of the ensuing week he was more or less drunk, 
“drownding his trouble,” his easy-judging neighbours said 
and encouraged him to think. The neglected children, 
pinched with cold and hunger, cried for their mammy ; for 
which he cuffed and cursed them at home, and betwixt pot 
and pot at the alehouse pitied them. 

But his superstitious hate was much more persistent and 
deeper rooted than his pity, ranking next to thirst among 
the emotions of his mind. Like his thirst he felt it as 
much dry-lipped, hot-mouthed, red-eyed in the morning as 
when he oozed beer in the evening ; a dull obscurely 
grounded passion, ineradicable, which might lie for years 
and years under the surface of action or might any day 
emerge at the up-push of opportunity. As well as his 
wife’s death he laid his own debauchery, his children’s 
famine, at the door of Nell’s witchcraft. His sluggish 
persistence made it the common topic of conversation, 

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336 

more even than conjecture upon the coming campaign, at 
the alehouses most frequented by him. These were the 
Barley Mow at the Bottom and the Lay Cross inns already 
known to us. He preferred the former for drinking, the 
latter for getting drunk in. That is to say the Barley 
Mow sold better ale and lay near at hand, but had a sour 
landlord who reproved bad language and expected his 
guests to walk at ten o’clock. The Lay Cross hours were 
as loose as its morals ; it refused nothing to purchase and 
found clean straw for the consummated customer. If 
Spettigew went straight thither from his supper at the High 
Farm it was but a down-hill mile, and he had eluded the 
cry and the recollection of his children’s wants ; so thither 
of late he had chiefly resorted. 

The ground was sealed up; there was little work doing; 
the resources and the tempers of the overseers of the poor 
were strained. And besides the general misery there was 
Timmy Jones, who had sprained his ankle so badly that 
for three whole weeks he had been able to crawl just so 
far as the Lay Cross and no further. He blamed Nell for 
it in preference to blaming his wife, who would have an- 
swered him. Jesse Limm had lost his best-loved little girl 
a while aback, and had always attributed it to unblamable 
diphtheria, until he was helped to see a woman’s devilry in 
it; so he blunted his sorrow against his anger. Luke 
Meadows had been unlucky before Nell was born, he was 
unlucky still ; that did not hinder; he could not have been 
madder against Nell if he had only last week chopped a 
finger off upon the block, like Sam Horsepool, the butcher’s 
journeyman. But there came a time of night, nearer 
eleven than ten, when it became more and more probable 
that even the weather and the idleness of the plough were 
the work of hell-craft. Two or three old topers, Spettigew 
being one, never separated before it was not merely prob- 


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able but proved. Every night and two or three times a 
night, Spettigew would tell in almost the same words, how 
he saw Nell gallop past his house in the dead of the night 
on a witch-horse, and how his wife worsened immediately. 

u I warn’t deceived ; I gied ’er up from that very mo- 
ment. But to mek sure safe I went to the wiseman at 
Suth’ell, an’ he telled me as she were witched. But ’e 
couldn’t do noat for ’er, ’e said, ’twere too late, ’e said, ’twere 
growed too strong. I axed ’im who ’twere. c ’Twere the 
person as yo think it is,’ ’e said. That’s law-coort evi- 
dence, if I know oat about law. And now them poor 
little kids is left motherless.” What with beer, what with 
pity, the man’s eyes were wet. But immediately he hard- 
ened again into a threat. w See to’t, mates ; some o’ yo’ll 
be missin’ ’ere coom next Febuary.” 

Each man looked uneasily round, as though perchance 
he might discover the fated by their faces. 

“ They say,” said David Hardstaff, “ as there’s a unfail- 
able sign of a witch. There were three witch-children at 
Bods’orth born of a birth ; they smothered ’em i’ th’ bedclo’es 
an’ buried ’em together i’ Bods’orth chutchyard. I’ve seed 
their graves; anybody can see ’em. They’d each on ’em a 
pap unner the left arm.” 

u What ’ud that be for ? ” asked Timmy. 
u For the devil to soock at.” 

“ Damn her ! ” said Luke, as much disgusted as if he be- 
held there and then the criminal meal. 

w I’d fair warnin’,” said Spettigew, u I will say that for 
’er. She telled me welly nigh two year agoo as she’d do me 
one. An’ she hes. She’s a truth-teller.” 

M Hark at me, mates,” said Jesse, and his face was white. 
“ The Scriptur says, c Thou shalt not suffer a witch to 
live.’ ” 

“ That’s good Scriptur,” said Spettigew ; “ it’s the best 


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Scriptur iver I heerd ; it’s just what I say mysen. Well, 
oad Moll Roideout were a proved witch, warn’t she ? ” 

w Ah,” said a scattering of voices. 

“ Well then, all we want to larn is, who did she pass it on 
to ? Would she gie’t away from the fam’ly ? Not likely.” 

u But,” said Josh Jowers, “ yo don’t niver ’ardly heertell 
o’ sich a yoong witch.” 

u That’s the wust on’t. Most plazen looks to hae a 
down oad witch ; that’s noat out o’ th’ way, that een’t. 
But when it cooms to haein’ a yoong un like thisn, as can 
run an’ ride an’ raunge about, why, surries, yo might as 
well hae oad Nick hissen i’ yer midst ! ” 

Each man looked uneasily round to see if old Nick were 
in their midst. 

“ Rabbit ’er ! ” said Luke Meadows. 

u I should like to gie ’er a taste o’ Blid’orth laws,” said 
Jesse Limm. 

Said old Jimmy Squires, the wittaws’ journeyman, very 
quietly from the corner where he was playing at cribbage 
with old Wilson : 

“ If so be she is sich as yo say — I’ve no opinion this- 
away or that-away mysen — but if so be she is I wouldn’t 
let on as I knowed — if I did know. M’u’m spells the same 
backwards as forrards, I’m to’d. M’appen she’s a-listenin’ 
now; m’appen not.” 

Each looked round on his companions collecting their 
fears from their faces. 

“We shall know to-morrer,” said Spettigew, but at a 
whisper. u Mark my words. We shall know to-morrer.” 

There was little more said that night ; but they drank 
the more, and presumably thought the more. And the next 
day sure enough they heard that the farmer at Lindhurst 
had lost a cow of milk fever. Timmy Jones worked on 
his farm ; the connection was obvious ; especially after ten 


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339 


o’clock. And so night by night beer and talk heated their 
imaginations until the threat of “ Blid’orth laws,” a local 
name for the rough justice of Judge Lynch, began to take 
somewhat the shape of a purpose. Neddy Cliff, the oldest 
standard in the parish, remembered with an aged intermit- 
tent memory the trying of a witch in L pond. As she 
failed to drown she was burnt; her dying shriek drove Sal 
Swanwick out of her mind ; but that was her last ill deed. 

The weather was bitterly cold ; the landlord’s blazing fire 
scorched their knees and left their backs out of doors ; but 
such talk heated them through and through, and gave their 
ale a more fiery zest than anything the brewer put into it. 
And so they talked, kindling fear against fear, courage 
against courage, malice against malice, as men do. And the 
recent machine-breaking disorders seemed to bring violence 
nearer to their intentions than otherwise it would have been. 

With a shift of the wind to southwest the six weeks’ 
frost came to an end at last. The white vanished from the 
hillsides, the brown and dirty green appeared. Every fur- 
row was brimming full, every ditch running over ; the 
scanty dribble which divided the Low Farm from the High 
became a small river and threatened for a few hours to flood 
the house. And in that muggy drizzly, vaporous unhealthy 
season old Wilson fell down dead of fatty degeneration of 
the heart. Old Wilson had sat and drunk night by night 
at the Lay Cross inn, sat and drunk and played cribbage, 
and just nodded perhaps twice in a long night when a safe 
thing was said. It was plain to the company at the Lay 
Cross, that if he were taken there was no security for any- 
body being left. It was not only thought it was said again 
and again. 

The following evening Arthur Skrene came through the 
front gate into the road just as Coy and Spettigew issued at 
the back. The thrasher stood, Spettigew turned down in 


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the direction of Lay Cross. Now the more he drank and 
talked by night the less he ate and talked by day, and the 
farmer suspected that all was not well with his odd-man. 
He was for shuffling past with the gruffest of good-nights, 
but his master stopped him by saying : 

u You seem to be going a long way round, my man, to 
your home and children.” 

u I’ve got to call at the Cross for a hatchet as Gill prom- 
ised to len’ me.” 

“ Mind you don’t cut yourself with it.” 

“ Ah.” 

And Spettigew shuffled off. The old thrasher stood at 
the back gate looking down the road after him. Skrene 
went up to him and said : 

“What makes you shake your head so solemnly, Father 
Coy ? ” 

“The little there’s in’t, mester; just what makes a 
blether waggle so i’ th’ wynd.” 

“ But your head isn’t always shaking.” 

“ An’ a blether’s sometimes still. Mester, when a man 
o’ my fine leanness can’t tek the measure of a man o’ his 
brede o’ belly ” — his finger pointed down the road after 
Spettigew’s broad back — “ I mun gie up vauntin’ mysen to 
be a witty man.” 

“You think there’s something unaccountable in Spet- 
tigew’s behaviour ? ” 

“ Mester, I’ve ne’er been friendly wi’ another man’s 
wife, I’m not likely to meddle wi’s important consarns. 
Good-night.” 

He hobbled a few steps on his thin bandy legs, stopped 
and turned. 

“ Accordin’ to Scriptur God made man an’ then makled 
woman up out’n the waste. One more or one less i’ th’ 
world o’ her sect’s noat ayther to be glad at or mad at.” 


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34i 


He again made as if going, again turned, measured the 
distance with his eye and seemed to think it too great, came 
half-way back, and again opened his narrow slit of a mouth 
and pitched his pipy voice. 

u If I were any kin to Rideouts’ Nell, I suld want to 
know if I were down in ’er will.” 

“ Why ? ” 

M So’s I could set my face according-lye.” 

M What do you mean ? ” 

w Ax me to-morrer, mester.” 

“ To-morrow may be too late.” 

w If a man says oat an’s fun’ out his own meanin’ by to- 
morrer, it’s rayther soon nor late.” 

The dry toothless slit of his mouth closed again, as if for 
the night, he turned finally and hobbled off up the road. 
What he had said seemed to Arthur like that mockery of 
a light which suggests snares and pitfalls to the night- 
walker, but without the precision which would enable him 
to avoid them. 

w How restless you are, dear, to-night ! ” said Lois anx- 
iously. u Does your leg feel worse ? ” 

u Quite the contrary, Loie. I think the exercise is doing 
it good.” 

For every now and then he would be going to the door 
and peering forth into the dark drizzly night ; or he would 
draw aside the curtain of that little westerly window which 
looked towards Low Farm; as though any danger which 
might be impending over it could by strain of eyesight be 
read in the black page spread out before him. 

w To-morrow ! ” he kept saying to himself. “To-mor- 
row I’ll either know more or care less.” 

That same night, nearer eleven than ten, a band of men 
whose identity the night muffled, five or it might be six of 
them, for they were not distinctly countable, issued soaked 


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in alcoholic courage from the Lay Cross inn, determined to 
put a stop to sudden death and cow-ailments at Blidworth 
at all events. There was a dog too but he was sober, and 
unheard as well as unseen ; not so much as a sniff telling 
whether he led or followed. One of the men carried an 
iron crow ; he felt rather than thought — felt as though the 
cold iron spoke to his hot hand — that it would be useful 
either to weight a drowning or forestall one. But they 
schemed no contrivance ; drunk or sober they were not 
capable of any ; what part of their intention was not mere 
bludgeonry was mere memory. 

They followed their thoughts, which made straight for a 
small piece of water hard by called Archer’s Water. It 
was ordinarily a mere shallow widening-out of the upper 
beck, there augmented by fresh springs, but it had been- 
swollen by the thaw to something more than a horse-pond. 
The low ground adjacent was marshy in wet weather with 
its oozings, and was called the Bogs. It was a cloudy 
night and the air was full of a soft drizzle ; but there was 
just enough light to make a sullen difference between wet 
and dry, and to divide the men that moved from the bushes 
that stood. Down-stream there was the harsh clamour 
now and again of water-fowl. Splash, splosh ! The man 
with the crowbar seemed to be sounding the depth of the 
water. There were muttered speeches, the utterers undis- 
tinguishable. 

u It een’t above two foot an’ a hafe.” 

u It’s three.” 

“ It’s fower furder in.” 

u Two an’ a hafe ’ll sarve— wi’ a bit o’ humouring.” 

“ I once pulled one o’ their ship out o’ the Bugs for ’em. 
Gash me if I’d a done it if I’d knowed ! ” 

It was a recollection which served them better than their 
collective imagination could have done. 


CHAPTER XXXII 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 

In the stillness of the night a man stood under Nell 
Rideout’s window, and with a long wand wrenched from 
one of the willows by the brook tapped at it until she 
awoke. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 

w One of your yowes hes got bugged i’ the Bugs.” 
u Why didn’t yo fetch her out ? ” 
w The watter’s too deep an’ I hedn’t no lantern.” 
u How d’yer know it’s ourn ? ” 

“ There een’t non others nigh’and. Skrene’s is all on 
tunnips t’other side the road.” 

u Anyhow it’s somebody’s ship. David, een’t it ? ” 

The answer was slow and sullen. 
u What’s that to yo or the yowe ? ” 
w I know it is.” 

The retort was quicker, but still sullen : 

“ Then why d’y’ ax ? ” 

She did not attempt to say ; she closed the casement and 
hurriedly dressed, thinking only of a poor sheep’s distress. 
The proper place for suspicion, parasitical spy that it is, is 
behind a man’s shoulder. Those who look back often see it 
often ; to the true, the brave, the straight-looking it appears 
seldom and late. In a few minutes she came forth with a 
lighted lantern in one hand and a sheep-hook in the other. 
u Gi’ me the lantern to carry,” said the man. 

She delivered it to him. He held it so that as little light 
as possible fell upon his own person. Being discovered he 

343 


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made a sham security out of not being seen. The grass 
squished beneath their feet like a full sponge. In each hol- 
low was a pool, which Nell leapt resting on her sheep-hook; 
the man splashed stolidly through them and filled his shoes 
with cold water. A peewheep, disturbed by the sound of 
their passing, uttered his loud wail, which was answered by 
others of his restless kind. The lantern cast a sprinkling 
of light on the colourless grass, gnawn turnips or glimmer- 
ing water just before their feet. Once and again a ewe got 
up out of their way and baaed for her lamb. A sheep-bell 
tinkled intermittently, warning off the fox. 

u Yo were at Lay Cross, I suppose ? ” said Nell, as they 
trudged down-hill to the Bogs. 

u Ah. I heerd ’er blart an’ I went.” 

“ I don’t hear noat.” 
u Nayther don’t I, now.” 

“ Well, David, be’t our ship or no, we’re beho’den to 
yer.” 

The man grunted ; it might be taken either for modesty 
or surliness. 

u It’s dark,” said Nell. 

“ Ah,” said the man. 

“ The weather’s very slack.” 

“ Ah.” 

They were pushing their way among the dank ling and 
bracken which bordered the Bogs. Nell stood, and screen- 
ing her eyes with her hands vainly strove to pierce the 
hedge of darkness. 

u I don’t see no ship,” she said. 

“ Nayther don’t I,” said the man. 

“ Where is she ? ” 

“ This-away.” 

They almost trod on a partridge which whirred blindly 
off into the dark. 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


345 


u I can’t hear noat on ’er,” said Nell. 

“ Nayther can’t I.” 

They had got round to the pool. For a yard or two be- 
fore them and beside them the lantern showed the bleached 
feathers of the tall reeds, the black treachery of the water. 
Nell did not see that shapeless shadows were closing in 
upon her, back and sides ; but presently she did hear the 
stumbling of a heavy foot against a tussock. 

w That’s no ship,” she said, and stopped to listen. 

Her conductor opened the lantern and with horny fore- 
finger and thumb nipped out the flame. 

“Why hae yer done that ?” she said, and instinctively 
put herself apart. 

Then all at once the shadows became obscurely visible to 
her as moving bushes. She started away, but as she did so 
the man David snatched at her hook. She wrenched it 
free, with the iron end dealt him a stunning blow over the 
head, then darted off again. But the moving bushes, now 
appearing limbed something like the ghosts of men, were 
behind and on either hand of her, the water was in the front. 
She doubled back — David had not yet recovered his wits — 
and as she ran between two of the pursuing shapes, she 
brandished her weapon to keep them off. One of them 
was slow and out of reach ; the other more active was hit, 
but idly above the elbow, and the blow delayed herself more 
than him. He pressed on, he stretched his hand out, he 
all but had her; but reaching forward too eagerly he slipped 
on the slimy ground, struggled to keep his footing, caught 
his toe in the roots of a gorse bush and fell all his length. 
She seemed to have escaped. Hitherto there had been no 
sound but of the runners’ running muffled by the coarse 
herbage, and of the quick labour of their breathing. 

But as she made for the higher ground she heard a low 
whistle behind her, and almost immediately felt a weight 


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upon her activity, something that clung to her gown, heavy, 
voiceless, tenacious, that would not be shaken off. She 
reasoned rather than saw that it was a dog. She could not 
tear herself loose. Her pursuers were coming up. She 
leant back over her right shoulder — it was no time for com- 
punction — she shortened her hold of the hook, she smote 
once, she smote twice, she smote thrice. At the third 
smiting instead of a dull thud something cried crack ! the 
weight fell from her gown, and the air was filled with the 
squeals of a dog-agony. But again pursuit was closing in 
on her, and the ground before her was much encumbered 
with the wild growths of the moor. She hurled the sheep- 
hook with all her might at the nearest of her besetters ; it 
hit him full in the body and checked him for the moment ; 
she gathered her skirts in both her hands and flew obliquely 
down towards the smoother but moister margin of the 
Bogs. 

She was the master of any of them at running ; she in- 
creased her distance ; a voice in the background, much like 
Spettigew’s, was heard cursing her for a doubly-qualified 
witch. The dog’s shrieks did not cease. But in the dark- 
ness she ran into the upper and narrower end of the Bogs. 
Being in she had to keep on and make the best of her way 
across it. It was but some thirty yards, but her shoes sank 
deep in the slimy bottom, the icy water was about her 
knees, and her progress was slow. Meanwhile her assail- 
ants had hastened round the head of the marsh, and just as 
she regained the firm ground, one of them dashed forward 
and with the sheep-hook hooked her by the leg, as a sheep 
is hooked. She fell helplessly to the ground. When she 
rose she was held by each arm in a substantial grasp, and 
moreover two substantial shapes confronted her, men, not 
flying soulless bits of the night ; bad men it was to be 
feared. 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


347 


u What d’yer want wi’ me ? ” she said. 
u A damned witch like yo,” said one of those in front, 
whom she immediately knew to be Spettigew, “ suld know 
wi’out tellin’.” 

She feared then what she feared most, and cried out : 
u Kill me, men, kill me ! Hae some marcy ! Kill me ! ” 
w Why don’t nubbudy shut yon yawpin’ mongrel up,” 
said one at her elbow ; u we shall hae the keepers down 
on’s.” 

u He’s gone hissen,” said another man. 

And indeed just at that moment the fearful dog-shrieks 
gave way to mere self-pitying discontinuous yelps; while 
Nell was still protesting : 

“ Kill me, kill me ! For God’s sake kill me ! And I’ll 
thank yer.” 

“ That’s just what we’re agate on, yo black-hearted 
varmin,” said Spettigew. 

Then when death was the fear before her she feared 
death. 

“ Why would yer kill me ? ” 

w Becos yo’re nubbut a damned witch ; that’s why.” 
u I’m no such thing.” 

“ Yo’re a damned ligger.” 

“ I ain’t that nayther. I’m no witch, men ; I never 
tho’t o’ such a thing ; believe me, men, I ain’t.” 

“ Yo witched my Hannah, yo she-devil,” said Spettigew; 
“ that’s what she died on.” 

w I never did ; she’d been swaling as long’s I can re- 
member.” 

“Yo witched our little lass,” said a more passionate, 
less brutal voice; u an’ she’s dead.” 

ct I never did — is’t yo, Jesse Limm ? — I liked the little 
lass.” 

ct Yo’ve witched a many a’ ready,” said he at her elbow 


FOREST FOLK 


348 

whom she had called David, w and yo’d a witched uz if we 
hedn’t gotten aforehand on yer.” 

u No, no, I never did and I never suld ! I never did, 
believe me, and I never suld ! ” 

“ Yo’re a rotten devil ! ” said Jesse. 

“ How much longer shalPs stop ’ere argy-bargy in’ ? ” 
said David. tc It’s as long as a fun’ral sarvice, this is.” 

He pulled at her arm ; his head was still sore with the 
knock it had gotten ; the others closed in and hustled her 
along to the water-side. The dog’s yelps had diminished 
to a whimper. The water seemed more devilishly terrible 
for the blackness that hid it, making of the inconsiderable 
pool a bottomless pit. 

“ Are yo gooing to drownd me ? ” she said. 

M If so be yo can drownd.” 

u And if I can’t drownd ? ” 

u Then I’ll cauve yer head in wi’ this,” said a fifth man 
who had just come up and carried the crowbar. 

She turned her face hillwards, she drove her voice forth 
at its extremest pitch and force ; it cleft the air like the far- 
reaching scream of a sea-gull. 

“ Help ! Arthur ! Arthur Skrene ! Help ! They’re 
killing me ! ” 

One man struck her over the lips ; blood filled her 
mouth. Another clutched her by the throat. 

“ We’ll shall hae to founder along, mates,” said Spetti- 
gew. u She’s summonsed ’im, an’ he’ll coom ; sure as fate 
he’ll coom.” 

They dragged her a few yards further ; their usage was 
of the roughest. 

“ It’s deepest here,” said one. 

And there they stopped. Hurriedly they threw her down 
and began to tie her legs together and her arms. The hand 
that compressed her windpipe must have been relaxed for a 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


349 

moment, for she managed to say in a hoarse whisper close 
to the ear of one of them : 

u Suld yo like your Peg, Olf Roberts, to be i’ my place ? ” 

The man let go his hold. The naming of him seemed 
to bring daylight to his deed. He uttered a low hoarse 
laugh. Then he fumbled again at the cord he was binding 
about her wrists. Nell’s throttle was again gripped ; she 
gasped for breath close to his ear. 

w This is a damned long co’d way o’ dyin’,” said the 
same man with the same sort of ashamed laugh. w Een’t 
there no other road o’ judgin’ on ’er ? quicker ? an’ 
warmer ? ” 

u Rip ’er smock off,” said Spettigew — he was at her feet 
— u an’ see if there een’t a pap unner ’er arm. If there 
een’t yer may drownd me.” 

The man at her wrists rent away the kerchief that was 
about her neck. The action jogged the hand that throttled 
her speech and loosened its hold. 

“Let me be, man ! ” said Nell fiercely. u Yo’re free to 
drownd me, on’y drownd me decent. I’ll die quiet ; I’ll 
nayther say nor do.” 

u She’s axed uz to drownd ’er,” said Spettigew ; “ yo’re 
all witnesses. It een’t manslaughter howsumdever, for 
she’s axed uz. That’s the law. All ready ? Now then ! 
Ketch ho’d of ’er shou’ders, yo two. Heave ’er up. Now, 
lads ! ” 

The hand was ofF her throat, but she uttered no cry. 
There was a great quiet, even the dog’s whine had died 
away. The water was black on her right hand. 

“ One ! ” 

By leg and arm they swung her to and fro to give im- 
petus to the cast. 

“ Two!” 

To and fro they swung her. 


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“ Three ! ” 

Their muscles were already astrain for the effort. 

u What are you doing ? ” 

The cords of their muscles were relaxed ; for another 
voice put the question, another shape stood beside them, 
within touch, as though it had suddenly taken form there 
condensed from the black air, or had sprung out of the 
ground. 

“ What are you doing ? ” 

“ Hooray for Blid’orth law ! ” said one of the ruffians at 
her head. “ Who are yo ? Play slingy wi’ ’er, lads. 
Doin’ what yo wain’t balk uz on ; so ayther gie’s a hand 
or stan’ aside out o’ the gate.” 

“ Is that you, Nell ? Why don’t you speak ? ” 

But the promise was on her tongue. 

“ Is she dead ? Have you murdered her ? You shall 
account for this.” 

“ Yo talk big for a little un,” said the same man — it was 
David, and his head was sore — u but she een’t murdered — 
yit — if yo call lawing murder. — She don’t speak becos she’s 
owned to being a witch, an’ furder speech ’ull nayther save 
nor sauve ’er.” 

u Yo lie!” cried Nell; u I’d gied my word. I’m no 
witch, Mr. Skrene ; though that’s why they’re drownding 
me. I’m no witch.” 

“Sling ’er off, lads. Finish what we’ve begun on.” 

w Stop ! ” said Arthur. w If you murder this woman ” — 
he was so near that he could put his hand on her — “you 
must also murder me, or else you put a halter round your 
own necks.” 

“Stay!” cried Nell. “ Hae some pity! I’m a dying 
woman ; don’t dishearten me. Why suld yo too die afore 
your time ? ” 

But he had found one of her hands and did not let it go. 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


35i 


u Spettigew ! ” 

At his sudden naming, as though it had been a blow, 
Spettigew dropped his share of the burden and fell back. 

tc If this woman dies I witness against you ; against all 
of you. Beware of me, I’ve a good memory; I shall make 
an excellent witness.” 

“ B’leddy, but yo shan’t witness again me ! ” said David. 

He let go his hold, and the girl’s body slipped through 
the other two men’s hands to the ground. 

w Damn thee, wheer beesta ? ” 

He was groping about among the rank grass for some- 
thing. Arthur had dropped on one knee so as not to lose 
his possession of Nell’s hand. 

“Pina dying woman, Arthur Skrene,” said Nell; “this 
is my death-ruttle ; gie me my dying comfort ; save 
yoursen.” 

u I know no other way. If it fails, I’ve done my 
best.” 

w Tek care o’ yoursen ! ” she cried, and at the same time 
struggled violently to lift herself up ; but her bonds mas- 
tered her, she fell back panting. 

For David had found what he was searching for, and 
now stood over Arthur with the iron bar poised for a deadly 
blow. 

“I lay this to cure any blab-tongue,” he said. 

But his aim was balked, for Spettigew hung on to his 
right arm hampering it. 

u I wain’t hae’t,” said Spettigew ; u the man’s none to 
blame. She’s witched ’im an’ all ; which I’ve misdoubted 
it this long while.” 

“ It’s false, Mr. Skrene ! ” protested Nell. w Yo’ve noat 
again me. I never witched nobody ; yo least of all, least 
of all yo.” 

u Stop your chap ! ” said Spettigew. “ D’yer think I’m 


352 


FOREST FOLK 


your day-man still ? But he’s not i’ fault ; I wain’t stan’ 
by an’ see ’im touched.” 

The other men seemed to waver. 

“ We moan’t goo too fur,” muttered one of them. 

w Yo hain’t the heart in yer of a fuzz-ball,” said David, 
and wrenched his striking arm loose. “ Stan’ by then an’ 
let me do.” 

“ Posh is dead.” 

It was only Josh Jowers who had tottered down to them, 
but his unnoticed coming and funereal words seemed to 
shake to the ground what still remained of their criminal 
courage. David dropped the crowbar. 

“ Posh is dead. See ! An’ I’m sober.” 

It could be seen that he carried a dim lifeless something 
in his arms. His tongue stuttered and his knees shook un- 
der him. 

“ Downraight sober ! What hae we been agate on ? 
Dal me if I remember oat. Summat i’ th’ nettin’ line ? 
But it’s too cloudy for oat o’ that. I get sore mixed up 
when I’m sober.” 

w Good-evening, Mr. Jowers,” said Arthur, still on one 
knee. 

“ Good-evenin’, sir,” said Josh, more mixed up than 
ever. “ Posh is a corp ; I’m dead sober.” 

u Here are some of your friends, who are also I believe 
soberer than they were ; but perhaps none the worse for 
that. Men, as far as I’m concerned I promise that this 
night’s work shall rest, if you carry it no further. I’ve as 
good a memory for forgetting as for remembering; I’ve be- 
gun to forget already. I hope you won’t disturb the proc- 
ess. Has one of you a knife on him ? ” 

A knife was put into his hand. He carefully cut the 
cords that bound Nell ; then helped her to her feet. At a 
little distance was a huddled cluster of shadows, guessably 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


353 


other than the dark background of the hill 5 but it vanished 
before it was certainly distinguishable. They were alone. 
They walked by the dark water-side together. 

“This een’t your way,” said Nell. 

“ No, but it’s yours.” 

A little further and Arthur kicked against a fallen lantern 
and picked it up. 

“ Thank yer,” said Nell ; “ it’s mine.” 

“Take care of it, Nell ; don’t let the men singe its horn 
with candles fitted awry, nor batter its frame out of shape 
against the stable door. Its light first made me suspect 
mischief ; and afterwards the fearful howling of that dog. I 
should like to beg it for myself.” 

“Take it, Mr. Skrene. Any thanks I could gie, any 
reward I could offer, would seem as poor by this sarvice ; 
so take it.” 

Her voice was troubled, which would have been remark- 
able in so strong-nerved a person but for the terrible expe- 
rience she had just undergone. It had recovered however 
when she added : 

“Your gainest road would yet be by the Cross.” 

“ I’m a little lame yet, Nell, as you perceive, and I lost 
my stick jumping the beck; should you mind lending me 
your arm as far as your door ? ” 

“ Furder if need be.” 

They walked on together, his right arm in her left, so 
that he could feel her heart thumping against her side. 
The drizzly darkness was as a wall between them and the 
world ; of which the intermittent tinkle of a sheep-bell, the 
cough of one asthmatic old ewe was the only rumour; 
they walked slowly, and spoke no word. 

But when they were going down to the house, then Ar- 
thur said : 

“ One thing surprises me, Nell, and only one.” 


354 


FOREST FOLK 


“ Ay ? ” 

cc That you should let yourself be caught at such a dis- 
advantage by such pitiful contrivers.” 

w I were never one to pike round a busk for bogies.” 

“ For you are a witch, Nell Rideout, say what you 
will.” 

“ How can yer say so, Mr. Skrene ? Oh, how can yer ? 
Yo know it’s not so. It’s anything but so.” 
u Spettigew says you are.” 

u Spettigew ! It behooves such as yo to be above quo- 
ting such as him. His name’s not proper company for your 
mouth, Mr. Skrene.” 

u Then you deny that you have witched me ? ” 
u How can yer ? Of course I deny’t. I never witched 
nobody, never nobody. Indeed, indeed I’m not a witch ! 
Could a woman be a witch wi’out knowing on’t ? ” 

u It would almost appear so. For there’s proof besides 
that unmentionable brute’s affirmation ; you called me and 
I came.” 

“ But I’m not a witch.” 
u In the very nick of time.” 

“ I’m not a witch.” 

u But why did you call and I come ? Why did you 
call, Nell ? call me, Arthur Skrene ? I wasn’t even aware 
you knew my name was Arthur.” 

“ E’erybody has a Christian name.” 

u Christian names being so common why did you favour 
mine? High House was further off than Low Farm.” 
The answer was slow a-coming. 

“ I tho’t m’appen yo weren’t such a heavy sleeper as our 
Tish.” 

“ Was that your only reason ? ” 

Nell stopped in the middle of a puddle, and said fiercely : 
“ If yo call me that again I’ll ” But all at once 


BY ARCHER’S WATER 


355 


her bold tone failed her. “ I suld never ha’ tho’t that yo — 
yo least of all, least of all ! ” 

She went on again. Dark was the night, endless the 
drizzle. 

u I wunner yo walk wi’ me, thinking as yo do on me.” 

w Well, letting that go, there’s the second query: why 
did I come ? ” 

In that low-lying part the ground squished under-foot 
like a full sponge. 

“You neither ask nor answer; it does not interest you.” 

“There’s a ship-hook of ourn left by the side o’ the 
Bugs.” 

“ I’ll send Charley for it in the morning. But perhaps 
you already know why ? ” 

Nell neither assented nor denied. 

“ In that there would again be a suspicion of black art.” 

“ It’s too bad on yer ! ” 

“ Well, / haven’t told you.” 

“Tell me.” 

For Nell the request was remarkably timid and low- 
voiced. And yet her heart beat more strongly than ever 
against his hand. 

“ It is late and you are tired and here’s the door, and the 
answer is one of some length and difficulty ; it must be 
until we meet again. But I won’t forget that you’ve asked 
me.” 

They stood and his arm was drawn from hers. 

“ I hope,” said Nell, “ yo wain’t suffer for this. Let me 
goo all the way with yer — just a little o’ the way with yer; 
I’m none tired.” 

“ Thank you, Nell Rideout, but until your character is 
cleared I mustn’t use your company more than I am 
obliged.” 

“ Oh what a man, what a man ! What a hard man ! ” 


356 


FOREST FOLK 


u If you will lend me a hooked stick and put a candle in 
my lantern I shall manage well enough ; and not suffer in 
reputation.” 

Nell brought him a stick and put a light in the lantern. 

“ There’s a plank across the beck now,” she said. 
u For Lois’s convenience ? Yes, I know. By the bye 
what shall you do about those miscreants ? ” 
u Yo’ve gien your promise.” 
u My promise doesn’t bind you.” 
u Don’t it ? Then I choose to be bound.” 

U I half repent of my undertaking; they may make an- 
other attempt, the villains ! ” 

“ Happen they may.” 

“ You’re a brave girl, Nell ! ” 

. u Me ? Nay ; I was sore afeard down by yon watter. 
While yo came. But it seems as if noat could frighten 
yo, it really does.” 

“ If it seems so to you, Nell, it only shows how well I 
can cover up.” 

They stood silent awhile, she on the doorstep, he on the 
doorstone; which gave her a great advantage in height. 
The candle illuminated a pair of miry shoes and a drab 
woolen skirt from its bedraggled hem to where one strong 
hand hung against it. It was disordered and besoiled, and 
had a wide rent at the knee which showed something of a 
dark-blue knitted petticoat beneath. Behind her the in- 
terior of the house was impenetrably black. Her other 
hand rested on the door-jamb high up. She had reason to 
believe that her thoughts and features were as secret as 
though they were locked in. Suddenly, unfairly, he lifted 
the lantern, taking her face by surprise, capturing the ex- 
pression of her eyes ; there were tears in them, tears on 
her cheeks. The red rushed to her face ; she fled within- 
doors. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


SPILT MILK 

Spettigew came to work next morning in good time but 
with a hang-dog demeanour. 

“ A word with you, Spettigew,” said his master to him. 
He led him out of the yard to the grass close beyond, 
where he could put, besides the bole of a giant oak, what 
the fire had left of two rows of great stacks, white corn, 
black corn and hay, between themselves and Wells’s 
curiosity. First he returned him the knife which he had 
borrowed the night before, saying : 

u Do you expect any thanks for it ? ” Spettigew did not 
answer ; his downcast eyes vaguely searched the grass at 
his feet, as for something which he did not look to find. 
w Well, thank you. And while I’m thanking you, there’s 
an iron crow in the barn which Charley found this 
morning by the Bogs. I’ll thank you to return it to its 
owner.” 

Said Spettigew gruffly, with difficulty, “ Yo’ve alius bin a 
man o’ yer word, mester. So I telled them.” 
u Much obliged for the testimonial.” 

“ David said ” 

u No names, if you please.” 

u ’E said as a man’s promise wouldn’t bear the stress of 
a man’s weight ; a helter would. ’E’s off full-drive to 
Nottingham to ’list i’ th’ King’s army. ’E reckons they 
wain’t waste hemp on a hable-bodied sojer so long’s there’s 
so much plenty o’ lead.” His eyes were fixed for the time 
being on the hassock of coarse grass which he was pecking 

357 


FOREST FOLK 


358 

at with his toes. u That’s all very well for a come-day-go- 
day chap like him, but when a man’s sattled ’e’d as lieve 
hang as flit. I’ve my kids, fower on ’em; Jesse’s hisn, 
five or six ; an’ Olf ” 

“ No names, I say.” 

u He married Slater’s Peg last back-end. We ho’d by 
yer promise, mester.” 

u And what of Miss Rideout ? ” 

Spettigew at length lifted his lowering brows. 

“If she swears we mun swear again ’er; we’re five to 
one.” 

u Five to two, Spettigew. You forget that if she chooses 
to subpoena me the law will compel me to give evidence, 
willy-nilly.” 

“ Then we’re done ! ” 

u Neither done nor undone, unless so you will. Miss 
Rideout is mercifully inclined to let bygones be bygones. 
I expect you to trust her and show yourselves sensible of 
her high generosity.” 

Spettigew’s evasive eyes were on the ground again. 

w If she means to she will, and if she don’t mean to she 
wain’t ; there een’t a woman i’ the hull world more of ’er 
own way o’ thinkin’.” 

“ About the future then : she and I require of you that 
you never enter the Lay Cross again. It is too distant for 
you to get conveniently drunk there.” 

“I don’t want to, if that’s all; Gill’s beer een’t worth 
belly-room.” 

“Moreover you must understand that in these degener- 
ate times witches have their rights just as much as farmers 
and labourers. It’s the same murder to kill one of them as 
to kill a sempstress. It may be wrong ; but that’s the law. 
I don’t mean Blidworth law.” 

“ A fool’s law an’ all,” muttered Spettigew. 


SPILT MILK 


359 


“ Perhaps ; it is true that . the law is made for fools ; any- 
how it’s a law, Spettigew, that must be obeyed. You quite 
understand ? ” 

u Ah ! I’ve gien it up. She’s too strong for’s, I see that ; 
we shall hae to play butty. She’s witched yer, mester, true 
as I’m ’ere. Wish yo may niver repent on’t.” 

“You speak like yourself, Spettigew — as usual.” 

M Yo’ll tek yer own road, I know.” 

M Well, Spettigew, to take one’s own road and repent, 
there’s something exhilarating about that, exhilarating at the 
commencement and not despicable at the close ; but to re- 
pent of taking somebody else’s road, Spettigew, is satisfac- 
tory neither at this end nor that, but altogether weak, flat, 
empty, and contemptible.” 

Spettigew went away as much impressed as if he had 
understood all that had been said to him. He had never 
seen Mr. Skrene look quite so alertly confident in himself, 
or differ with quite so overmastering an indifference to the 
difference. 

w What did ’e want wi’ yer ? ” said Wells to him. 

“To tell me as ’e’d a mind to do as ’e’d a mind, an’ be 
danged to me.” 

“ Ah ? ” 

“ An’ be danged to him, so I think ’e will.” 

“ I suldn’t wunner,” said Wells ; “ ’e’s alius bin very 
mooch that way o’ thinkin’.” 

“ He is this mornin’ more nor ever; I think he’d turn 
the wynd round to his likin’ ; so y’ad better ger on wi’ 
muckin’ out yerhosses.” 

And yet Arthur Skrene had suffered a sore disappointment 
that very morning. From a knoll on his own land out of 
which there grew one stunted oak, he could get a view of 
the greater part of the pasturage which the Low Farm 
milch cows were then grazing, and particularly of the gate 


36 ° 


FOREST FOLK 


to which they were driven to be milked. He had taken his 
stand there as soon as it was light enough to tell a white 
cow from a red. They had ceased to feed and stood about 
the gate lowing for the milker. The milker came and set 
her stool and piggin under a black and white Welsher. But 
it was not Nell ; he turned away before she had put head 
to flank and hand to teat. 

For six days he did the like and still Nell did not appear. 
He might have gone down to the house and seen her 
to the prosaic accompaniment of pot and pan, chair and 
table, but he would not. If she had been kept in by any- 
thing serious he would have heard from Lois, who often 
visited the Rideouts. On the seventh morning she came. 
For all his impatience he waited until she had done milking; 
he would not have her attention divided between himself 
and a red smooth-skinned Leicestershire or a black rough- 
coated Welsher. A cold dry east wind had been blowing 
for the last three or four days, driving the mists from the 
air, licking up the superabundant moisture from the ground; 
now it had veered to the south, and its gentle wafture beck- 
oned spring along. The crescent moon' and her attendant 
planet still shone in the sky but their influence had paled 
before the coming sun. The hills in front of him and the 
woods that crowned them, dense larch, bare oak and beech 
were clearly defined. The smoke from the house chim- 
neys was gently dispersed without rout. The grass at his 
feet showed the green through the brown ; the purple osiers 
along the brook were bursting into bud ; a blue-cap was 
singing, “ zitter-zitter zee-zee,” in the tree overhead ; the 
rooks were incessant, coming and going. 

But at last he could see that Nell had finished milking ; 
one by one the three cows had returned to their pasture, 
she was starting for home and he went down the slope to 
meet her. But he did not gulp his delight; he was epicure 


SPILT MILK 


361 

rather than glutton. It was for this he had waited, putting 
so stringent a restraint upon himself the night of the rescue. 
He was not content to hear and touch and know unless he 
should also see. He stopped on the hither side of the close 
next the meadow, stopped and sat down on the crooked bole 
of an old thorn-tree and waited. The sun was just flash- 
ing over the brow of the hill before him. Stars and planet 
had disappeared ; the moon, shorn of her attendance, was 
a mere ornament in the sky, little more luminous than the 
fleecy clouds that here and there dappled the blue-grey. He 
had the delight of seeing her before she saw him. Her 
path for the time being lay obliquely to him and her eyes 
were directed straight forwards. The smock-frock and 
men’s gaiters in which he had first seen her come from the 
milking had been exchanged for a primrose-coloured bodice 
and panniers above a short russet skirt, which left at least half- 
a-foot of dark blue stocking showing. She had a hood on 
her head of a lighter blue, and additional warmth was given 
to her robust shoulders by a woolen kerchief, red checked 
with black. Her shoes were raised above the dewy grass by 
pattens, which like ancient cothurni gave imposing height to 
her else unusual stature. Her gait was weighted a little by 
her burden, but was still too youthfully strong and free for 
comparison with the tragic tread of the Athenian stage. In 
one hand she bore her stool, in the other the one-eared 
piggin into which she had milked. The large wooden kit 
upon her head, magnificently poised, swayed with her body 
as though it were part of it. 

But that sideways partial view of her soon came to an 
end. When her path met the brook she had to swerve a 
little to the right, which brought her face to face with him 
at some fifty yards’ distance. The radiant sun was exactly 
over her head; she was in the shadow of the hill, but 
shielding his eyes with his hands he saw her perfectly well, 


FOREST FOLK 


3 62 

backed by the sunless brown of a ploughed field. And she 
saw him. Immediately her face was one trouble of reds. 
Still she came on at an unvarying pace, but her cheeks 
showed red upon red, accumulatively red, and her eyes 
were as though they were wet with brightness. 

Soon she advanced out of the shadow and into the shine. 
The polished hoops of the kit on her head, the piggin in 
her hand shone like silver. And still as she approached 
she came more and more into line with the sun, and he 
found it increasingly difficult to separate her many-coloured 
excellence from the white glory of the luminary behind 
her. Until at last the two were merged ; milk-pail, blue 
hood, crimson cheeks, bright eyes, floating hair were 
wrapped up in the indistinguishable blaze. He was dazzled 
and awed, but continued to gaze. So perhaps, in such a 
concealing light, a dread enwrapping a love, appeared the 
angel to Hagar by the fountain in the wilderness, by the 
fountain in the way to Shur; so perhaps to Manoah and 
his wife by the rock in the field, or to Gideon under the 
oak of Ophrah. But why talk we of angels ? They do 
not visit us now by day, only by night, hardly in a cloudy 
dream ; before we can say lo ! we are awake. 

Nell was close at hand. She did not swerve from her 
going nor lessen her stride, but the fixity of Arthur’s gaze 
confused her understanding, troubled her eyesight ; at last 
she cried out : 

u Don’t look at me so ! Yo balk me.” 

But before the words were complete she had struck the 
iron ring of her patten against a tuft of grass ; the check 
threw her head forward and marred her balance; she could 
not drop what her hands held in time to steady the totter- 
ing pail. Down it fell splash ! Arthur’s thoughts and 
eyes fell from a great height to the ground. He could see 
nothing at first, but by degrees amid the lessening number 


SPILT MILK 


3^3 

of little black clouds that swam in the air he saw the over- 
turned kit, the milk whitening the brown-green grass, 
NelPs dismay. 

“ Never mind,” he said; “we’ve plenty of milk at the 
High Farm to replace it.” 

u Do yo think Tish wouldn’t tell the difference ? She 
would at a gleg.” 

u Is yours better ? ” 

u It’s different.” 

“ Are you afraid of Tish ? ” 

“ No more nor yo’d be.” 

“Well, I’ll go with you; it’s only fair.” 

He picked up the empty kit. 

“ Gie’t to me,” said Nell. 

“Allow me.” 

“ I couldn’t think on’t.” 

“Well, we’ll both carry it.” 

So it was ; they put into it piggin, stool and the roll 
which Nell had worn to ease her head of its pressure, then 
went towards the house bearing it between them, each 
holding one of its upright ears with finger and thumb. 
The soft breeze blew directly in their faces cooling them 
deliciously. The short grass along their path was emerald 
hoary with the shimmer of the dew, although on either side 
the coarser wintry herbage was still brown and yellow. 
From the willows by the brook a throstle began to sing 
that was not singing before. The sun was now sovereign 
both of sky and earth. The mixing of crimsons which had 
left Nell’s face at the disaster to the milk returned ; but 
Arthur could not see whether her eyes were still as bright. 
What their lids and long lashes did not hide was seen only 
by the grass and the rare daisies that flecked it. She might 
have been counting them. So they walked gently swing- 
ing the kit between them rhythmically with their stepping ; 


3 6 + 


FOREST FOLK 


and the breeze was as coolly sweet to their hot brows as 
the difference between love and friendship. 

Half-way to the house Arthur said, “ Do you very much 
mind ? ” 

u Not so very.” 

“ Neither do I.” 

That was all that was said ; only under the corner of 
the house, before they should turn it and pass through the 
gate into the yard, Arthur hung back. The gentle check 
to Nell’s right hand naturally brought her left round a little 
towards him. He seized it. They were face to face. 
Slowly the curtains lifted and showed the full orbs of her 
eyes to his. Her lips were cherry red. 

“ Nay,” she said; u somebody’s looking.” 

But he had received her look, and it went through him 
with the stab of a poignant sweetness. They turned to- 
gether into the yard. 

“ Don’t be far behint,” Nell whispered, as she opened 
the door. 

There was in her countenance that self-consciousness 
which always attracts the attention it shuns. Tish was on 
her knees doing the hearth up, but her eyes were instantly 
on Nell. 

“Whatever’s gotten the milk?” she cried. “ It’s not 
tithe mornin’.” 

She looked unusually large-bodied, loud-voiced, fierce- 
tempered, as she rose and went towards Nell, brush in 
hand. 

“ I’ve spilt it,” said Nell. 

u Spilt it ? Yo gret All on’t ? ” 

“ Ay, all.” 

w Yo left-handed lommox ! Who ever heerd tell ? 
Spilt it? Yo thing! All the milk? What next I wun- 
ner ? ” 


SPILT MILK 


365 

She did not or would not see Arthur, who had already 
slipped into line with Nell. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gillott,” he said ; “ it was my 
fault entirely.” 

“ Then yo shall pay for’t.” 

“ I will, with pleasure.” 

u Then yo shan’t, with pleasure.” 

Her keen eyes were taking them both in; she advanced 
two paces upon Nell, a movement that in itself had the ap- 
pearance of a menace. 

“ A hull meal o’ milk might be a trifle, Nell Rideout ! ” 
she said, but nothing like so fiercely as she had threat- 
ened. 

She looked from Nell to Arthur, from Arthur to Nell, 
keenly. They bore the scrutiny with some fortitude. 

u Tell me, our Nell,” she said; u hae yo spilt noat be- 
side the milk this mornin’ ? ” 

Nell gave Arthur a half-look but did not answer; Ar- 
thur gave Nell a whole look, but said not a word. 

u What’s all this arley-parleying about?” said the 
grandame from the chimney-nook. u I ain’t very light o’ 
hearin’ this mornin’ ; yo mun speak up.” 

Nell crossed the floor, Arthur by her side. Tish stood 
looking on, still with the brush in her hand. 

“ I’ve spilt the milk, granmam,” she said. 

w Welladay ! What a sour mishap ! ” cried the old 
dame, lifting each skinny hand. 

Nell went nearer, so that she needed not to speak so 
loud, Arthur still by her side. 

“ And I’ve gotten a sweetheart,” she said, no louder than 
she needed to speak, her face like a rose. 

“Well, that’s amends, that’s amends indeed. If so be 
it’s the raight quallity o’ sweetheart.” 

Arthur’s right hand was by Nell’s left, just touching it; 


3 66 


FOREST FOLK 


she took and laid it in her grandmother’s. The old 
woman’s skinny fingers closed about it. 

u But thisn’s a gentleman’s hand,” she cried, u not a 
farmer’s ! ” 

“Indeed I am a farmer, grandmother,” said Arthur; 
“ and with your consent I would make Nell a farmer’s 
wife.” 

u And a good farmer too,” said Nell ; “ though he has 
summat to larn about the management of our light forest 
land.” 

“You’ll teach me, Nell,” said Arthur. 

“ Skegs’ll grow where noat else will,” said Nell, “ and 
they’re unaccountable good for cows i’ th’ straw.” Again 
she addressed the old woman. “ Still he’s a main good 
farmer. I never seed a better crop o’ tunnips nor that on 
Three Oak Cluss ; and he has a wunnerful fine-woolled 
breed o’ sheep. They don’t scale as much as ourn for the 
butcher, but a wunnerful fine wool. And he knows a hoss, 
granmam ; and can ride one too. Though I wain’t praise 
him for that ; he’s too venturesome.” That in the tone of 
reproach with face half Arthur’s, half her grandame’s. “A 
sight too venturesome, too venturesome by hafe.” 

“ I shall be careful now, Nell,” said Arthur. 

“Yo wain’t,” she insisted in tender contradiction ; “not 
till some day yo mek me a sorry woman ; or till, please 
God, yo’re an oad man and mount at the block.” She 
turned again to the dame and her speech was less fluent. 

“ But he can be venturesome off’n hossback, granmam, 
an’ all. He’ll venture his life ” 

“Tut-tut, Nell,” said Arthur. 

“For a lass ” 

“What of you, Nell?” said Arthur. 

“For me, granmam.” 

“ That’s a good property,” said the dame. 


SPILT MILK 


3 6 7 

“ And I will say this for him,” said Tish from the rear, 
still holding an idle brush, “ he’s a lad as can stan’ a sprin- 
klin’ o’ small shot in’s legs and theerabouts wi’out malice.” 

u That’s another good property,” said the dame ; w them’s 
all good properties. Still I like a rough hand mysen ; it 
seems more clingy.” 

“And to my mind,” said Tish, “he’s four inch short o’ 
being a fair match for our Nell.” 

“Nay,” said Nell quite eagerly, “Arthur’s more nor my 
match a’ready. And he’s a very good height-th, a very 
good height-th indeed ; it’s me that’s a deal too lanky for a 
woman.” 

“ Five sooner nor four. However if I’d meant to say 
oat again it, lass, I should ha’ outed wee’t first off. After 
all there may be little spunk in a big body and plenty on’t 
in a little un.” 

“ Be that as’t may,” said the grandmother, “ he’s gotten 
our Nell and she’s not a wench to be gotten lightly.” 

The aged woman resting one skinny hand on each arm 
of her chair uprose to her feet. Her face was that of one 
near the term of life, one who has seen more sorrow than 
joy, so takes even the joy apprehensively. 

“ Sir, a many men ha’ coom to me wi’ th’ same soft 
tale, coortin’ one or another o’ my gells.” 

She stood silent. Perhaps she was adding up the per- 
formance of those same gallant wooers and arithmetically 
subtracting it from their larger promises. She continued : 

“ Thisn’s the last, the youngest, the best ; the last I hae 
to give or to refuse.” 

Her sightless hand sought something; Nell guided it to 
what it sought, the comfort and support of her own arm. 

“ She can bake an’ she can brew, she can plough an’ she 
can milk ; she’s been to school. That sampler i’ th’ room 
she worked wi’ her own hand. She ne’er gied me a wry 


3 68 


FOREST FOLK 


word in ’er life. We spell her name wee a haitch.” She 
turned again to Nell. u Did yo say his name were Wil- 
liam ? ” 

“ No, granmam, Arthur, Arthur Skrene. ,, 

“It’s none the worse. ’Twere a William as married 
Susan. Ah well ! Do yo promise me, Arthur Skrene, as 
yo’ll behave well to my little lass ? ” 

u So help me God,” said Arthur fervently. 

With the touch of his right hand on the hand which 
Nell still cherished, he enforced his oath on the blind 
understanding. Whereat a wan pleasure, as it were a 
shadow of light, passed across the aged face; passed and 
left nothing but the former ashen pallor. So on a day of 
shifting shadows something a little more of the sun, a little 
less of the clouds, may flit athwart the wintry furrows, 
scarcely seen, straightway unseen. 

“ Maybe,” she said, M yo’ll behave bad to her after all. 
Then yo’ll say God didn’t help yer and so back out on’t.” 

“ No,” answered Arthur, w I should make no such ex- 
cuse, for it would be a devilish lie.” 

The old woman sat down again silent and sightless. 
Tish put by her idleness and her brush, took a simmering 
iron pot from the hob, and pouring linseed pottage there- 
from into a bucket began to mix it with last night’s milk. 
Nell expected her to recur to the loss of the warm new 
milk which should have gone to the mess, good for the fat- 
tening calf, but she said not a word. A chair was placed 
for Arthur in the chimney. Nell stood by. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 

u Yo don’t know,” said Nell, u how ’tis I’ve been kep’ 
in all the week wi’ a sprained knee.” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” said Arthur. 

u I never knowed mysen while mornin’.” 

She then in spite of Arthur’s dissuasions related how she 
had been rescued from the lynchers. Tish strode up with 
a hand all mealy and offered it to Arthur. 

“ Arthur Skrene,” she said, “ it’s high time uz two shook 
hand and was friends.” 

“ Nothing,” said Arthur, “ could please me better.” 

They shook hands, and if the grip of Tish’s friendship 
was as strong as that of her hand it was something ines- 
timable. 

“ I was only paying a little back,” said Arthur, “ of what 
I owed.” 

u Dal me,” said Tish, “ if this don’t mek one ashamed 
o’ being so big. It’s as I said ; sperrit may be spreed thick 
on a little bit or thin ower a gret hunch.” 

The grandmother’s face was like a rain-dashed window- 
pane when the sun is promising to get the better of the 
clouds. 

“ What didsta say he were called ? ” she asked. 

“ Arthur, granmam,” said Nell. 

u I get strangely mixed up, haein’ hed so many. Arthur.” 
Her blind face was turned again towards him. “ Yo wain’t 
vally an oad woman’s blessing at the same market as a 
young woman’s fancy.” 


369 


37 ° 


FOREST FOLK 


u I should value it highly, grandmother.” 

u Yo hae it.” She stretched out each skinny hand and 
her voice put on a new emotion consonant with the tear- 
splashed face. “ My blessing on thee, my son. Nay, nay, 
who am I ? God's blessing rest on thee, night and day.” 

Her hands dropped down on her knees. Arthur durst 
not answer. 

“ 'Twill mek my daily prayer that much longer,” she 
said in a voice less upraised. w Next hern.” 

The life which had momentarily disturbed the withered 
face receded inwards to the more vital parts. The wrinkled 
skin again hung flaccid about the toothless mouth. 

u What mun I larn to say i’stead o' Nell Rideout ? ” 

The rose on Nell's cheeks deepened, but she did not 
answer. 

“ Tell her, Nell,” whispered Arthur. 

But the rose only deepened yet the more. 

“ Tell her yoursen, lad,” said Tish from the other side 
of the room. u It’s a cowardice that a maid suffers from. 
I hae felt it mysen.” 

Then Nell, not to be charged with cowardice, did a bold 
thing, but shamefacedly. 

w Say Nell Skrene, granmam,” she said. “ But not yet.” 

u Nell Skrene,” said the old woman. 

She mused awhile on the strangeness of it ; then mur- 
mured : 

“ A change o' names is a terrible thing ! ” 

Thereafter she sat silent and sightless. Nell thought of 
her for a moment, then Arthur’s hand touched hers and 
she forgot her. The lovers went aside to the window ; the 
old woman was left to her thoughts ; she sat by the fire 
and stroked her knees with her trembling hands, as though 
she were smoothing her emotions into satisfaction, or at 
least into quiet. Tish filled the kettle from the water- 


37 1 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 

bucket in the dairy and set it on the fire, flung a white 
cloth over the centre table, made a rattle of knives and 
forks and plates. 

The lovers stood by the window, hand not clasping hand 
for shame’s sake, but just in contact. They stood enjoy- 
ing the delicious uncertainty of that hand’s-touch never 
quite withdrawn, never more than just perceptible. They 
could not see the sun — the pigs routing among the muck 
and straw of the yard were still in the shadow of the house 
and stabling — but they could perceive its pleasant effects in 
the flushed tiles of the outbuildings, in the uplighting of 
the soft weather-stained browns of the barn thatch, in the 
silvery glistening of the stacks, the shiny greyness of the 
one leafless aspen visible between, in the hoary emerald 
shimmer of the strip of dewy herbage beyond the gate, in 
the graduated haziness of the hills, the dappled whitey-blue 
of the sky. The moon being searched for was still visible, 
beautiful still in her serene acceptance of eclipse. It is 
abominable being out of doors to hear a bird sing in a 
house ; being in a house it is sweet to hear a bird sing out 
of doors. It chants of what is not actual to the eye and 
is therefore the more inward to the mind. 

After a while Nell started into recollection, withdrew her 
hand from Arthur’s with quick ashamed reluctance, and 
began to assist Tish in the preparation of breakfast. Arthur 
from the window watched with pleased eye her movements, 
quick, certain, well-rounded, with an untamed naturalness 
which made them in all their haste never once angular or 
ungraceful. Now and again she caught his eye and was 
stayed for a minute, lost, as though she were saying to her- 
self, “ Is it true ? ” Then she remembered shamefacedly 
and put down what she was carrying or sped the faster 
after what she was fetching. The grandmother was but as 
one of the darker shadows in the corners ; Tish though so 


37 2 


FOREST FOLK 


large was only noticeable for her opacity when she inter- 
cepted his view of Nell, making brief eclipse. 

After a while Tish said to Arthur in her abrupt way, 
u Mebbe yo’d like to stop to breakfast wee ’s ? Yo can if 
yo like. We’ve nubbut bacon.” 

Arthur said that was what he liked best and thanked her 
gratefully. Nell skimmed across the floor to the dairy. 
As she returned bearing the bread on its snow-white platter 
she whispered to Tish, with her eyes on Arthur to see if he 
were listening : 

u Let’s hae the blue plates, Tish, and the best knives 
and forks.” 

“When I want your interference, child,” said Tish 
sharply but not sourly, “ I’ll ax for’t.” 

She cut rashers from a well-streaked flitch of bacon, and 
covered the frying-pan with them ; not the hasty merchan- 
dise of the shop but bacon deliberately bred, fed, killed and 
cured. Soon a pleasant sizzle made concert with the 
kettle’s song, and a rich unctuous odour filled the room 
putting the last edge upon hungry appetites. Nell passed 
close by Arthur on occasion or in mere need of it. For an 
instant the tips of her fingers touched the tips of his and 
the pleasure of the contact changed their faces. They 
thought they had done it secretly, but Tish saw and it 
vexed her recollections. 

u Eh, lass, eh, lad,” she said, u it’s all very well so long 
as it ho’ds, this looking and longing, this gawping and 
gawming; but what’ll come on’t all, d’ye think, after 
twelve month o’ matrimony ? ” 

“The same or better, Mrs. Gillott,” said Arthur boldly. 

“ I hain’t fun’ it so. Look at me; I ain’t amiss to look 
at e’en now, when I’m dressed up ; the lad I chose stood 
six foot two in’s stocking-feet and spoke me fair. Twelve 
month on’t were enough for me, and more nor enough.” 


373 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 

cc Pm sorry your experience has been so unhappy,” re- 
plied Arthur with remarkable moderation as he thought, 
“ but that ever incompatibility of temper should cause such 
a division between Nell and me ” 

“ Man alive ! Incompatibility o’ temper ? ’Twarn’t that 
as parted Ted Gillott and me; it were our tempers being 
so wunnerfully alike.” 

“ Our tempers aren’t alike,” said Nell. “ Arthur’s is 
worse nor mine — much worse. So there’s no fear o’ that.” 

u Have I the worse temper? ” said Arthur, a little sur- 
prised at bottom. w Well, we’ll try it with a curb.” 

Perhaps the prick of Tish’s remembrance had stirred her 
to a quicker perception of those languorous meetings of the 
lovers’ eyes ; she said to Nell in that sharp authoritative 
way of hers : 

“Put your hat on and goo and show him the little quee 
cauf.” 

Nell’s eyes modestly consulted Arthur’s. 

U I should very much like to see it,” he said. 

She did not throw on again the hood she had just taken 
off, nor reach down the sunburnt harvest-hat which hung 
on the wall, she ran across the kitchen and up the stairs, 
opened a door, put her head into a room, and in a moment 
of incredible shortness came down again with a deepened 
blush on her cheeks and a fresh white-strawed blue-rib- 
boned thing crowning her head. It was her second-best, 
good enough almost to go to Sunday meeting in, almost too 
good for a week-night service ; it might reasonably have 
been expected that Tish would have said something, but 
she did not ; proof that there is no temper in the world 
which can be called certain. Nell tripped back from the 
threshold to whisper in her sister’s ear : 

u Don’t forget the best knives and forks and the blue 
plates.” 


374 


FOREST FOLK 


Tish’s temper was only dormant; it was roused by the 
provocation. 

“Is this breakfast,” she said back, “your consarn or 
mine ? If it’s yourn clam ho’d o’ this frying-pan and I’ll 
goo and show the man the little quee cauf.” 

The little quee calf was in the long range of stabling on 
the other side of the yard. Thither the lovers went, and 
we may suppose if we like that they gave her due attention 
and admiration ; stroked her silky hide and let her mumble 
their hands between her toothless gums ; but they must 
have found time for something else, for only a few minutes 
and Arthur was saying : 

“Darling, there’s this advantage in my being a little un- 
dersized for you.” 

To make sure however he again compared their respect- 
ive heights by the readiest and surest of methods, juxtapo- 
sition. We may believe he made the most of his inches, 
we may surmise that she did not of hers ; or if she did it 
happened that she stood in the gutter. Anyhow as they 
were then chins and noses and the lips between them were 
perfectly on a level. To confirm it the actual contact that 
ensued was hardly necessary. 

“ I don’t have to stoop for this as most men do.” 

The greyhound bitch came down to greet her mistress, 
delicately treading the uneven pavement with ladylike com- 
posure, but finding her presence unheeded lay down under 
the nearest manger too proud to court notice or show 
jealousy. 

“ Yes, yo do stoop to kiss me,” said Nell gravely ; 
“ I’m an ignorant person to pretend to be the wife o’ such 
as yo.” 

“You’re talking about dress, Nell, frippery which any- 
body’s money may buy, with something inside to walk 
them about. There’s a woman in this; ” he touched Nell’s 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 375 

country-made bodice with a caress, “ and that’s unpurchas- 
able. Do you know who taught me that ? ” 

“ No.” 

“You did, Nell. How long have I been — a year and a 
half? Not so much as that — at Blidworth ? You must 
be a rare school-mistress, Nell. I went to school in Kent 
for nine years and learnt nothing in comparison.” 

The lovers sat on a heap of straw in the nearest corner 
of the stable. The half-closed doors secured them from 
outward observation ; the chain-jangling horses champed 
their provender and minded their own business. The rapid 
gradation of gloom down the long shed was such that 
Captain’s dark brown seemed a lighter hue than Tidy’s 
bay. All along the roof there was a timid flutter of light 
under the tiles. Arthur took possession of Nell’s waist ; 
and the time went by unheeded, while Tish patiently kept 
breakfast waiting and the grandmother sat by the fire 
stroking her knees. 

Said Nell, u I hain’t thanked yer yet.” 

“ What for ? Oh, if you talk of that, here are five 
months gone and you yet unthanked ; you must think me 
dreadfully remiss.” 

“There’s no need, love.” 

“Neither for you nor me ? ” 

“ No, not now.” 

“ It would be as if we thanked ourselves. Or if we 
must be thanked ” 

How the time sped ! The minutes had not the winged 
duration of clock-measured seconds. 

Said Arthur, “ You asked me a question — do you re- 
member ? — the other night, which I promised to answer 
and haven’t done.” 

Said Nell, “ There’s no need ; I know.” 

“ Perhaps you knew then.” 


37 6 


FOREST FOLK 


“ Maybe; but knowing now and knowing then are such 
different things.” 

Nell espied the soft liquidity of the bitch’s eyes under 
the manger. At her beck the animal with a dog’s forgiv- 
ingness immediately rose, with a delicate shiver flung from 
her fine coat the particles of chaff which adhered to it, and 
stepped daintily forth as though it were the first opportunity 
she had given her mistress of greeting her. 

11 Good-morning, Treasure, my pretty,” said Nell laying 
hot cheek against cold moist muzzle, a pleasant differ- 
ence. 

u Een’t she a beauty ? ” she said to Arthur. w Her 
head’s like a snake’s, her feet’s like a cat’s, her back’s like 
a beam — but her tail’s like no rat’s that ever I seed.” 

So she chatted, finding also a cool pleasure in the brief 
drop to a trivial topic, in the restful return to what she had 
said yesterday. But what was chief in her mind would 
not consent to be secondary on her tongue for more than a 
minute or two. 

u This is my sweetheart, pet,” she said. w Love, this is 
Treasure, my grew.” 

“ Oh, she is your treasure, is she ? ” said Arthur affecting 
to sniff. 

“Tsh! love,” whispered Nell, u it’s nubbut a name.” 
Then to the hound who held back from the introduction. 
“Nay, if yo love me yo moot love him. Your hand, my 
cant ; like a lady.” 

The bitch made no clamorous protest, displayed no shal- 
low-hearted fussiness as the human female might have done, 
but just submitted to the introduction with polite formality; 
then lay down the other side of Nell, out of sight of the 
male supplanter, and closing her eyes with proud delicacy 
gave her mistress an excuse for forgetting her. 

But at length and at last the lovers had risen, at last they 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 377 

were going. No, Arthur held her back from the open door 
and strained her in his arms and called her witch. 
u For witch you are,” he said. 
u Ay, just as much as yo’re a wiseman.” 
u Do you still deny that you have witched me ? ” 
w I deny noat ; yo suld know. But if I can witch I can 
unwitch. Shall I ? Yo’ve nubbut to say the word.” 

M Nay, that is impossible. Witch though you be, you 
cannot do that.” 

Tish confronted them at the door. 

“ Yo’ve bin a strange while,” she said. u I meant yo to 
hae your bite and sup i’ quiet. Now the men’s coomed in, 
and Lambert’s got a bad co’d in’s head — the man’s alius 
got summat — and Dick’s barking like a dog, and Perry 

such a ” She stopped abruptly ; perhaps she perceived 

that her reproof did not stay on the faces of the reproved ; 
she added less tartly : “ But yo did as yo’d a mind.” Then 
with completed magnanimity : “ And yo’d the raight on’t.” 

However she had laid the round table for them separately 
by the fire with the best knives and forks and the blue 
plates. The two men and the boy ate by themselves at the 
oblong table under the window ; with more constraint than 
usual in the shuffling of their feet and their continual de- 
mands for u A bit more, please.” As they chewed they 
furtively eyed the separated couple. Lambert sniffed, the 
boy coughed, Perry smacked his lips as loud as a pistol; 
but Arthur made an excellent breakfast, talked with Tish 
about the curing of bacon and the value of sulphur to pigs ; 
with the men about the fall of lambs, the top-dressing of 
wheat, the treatment of land that is tired of clover ; with 
the grandmother about the great cheese riot at Nottingham 
Goose Fair in ’66. To Nell he said scarcely anything. 
She hardly spoke, but did not appear to eat the more for 
that. 


378 


FOREST FOLK 


The meal was ended, the men shuffled off. Dick how- 
ever was detained by Tish, who in a voice as loud as insult 
said : 

w Afore yo goo to-night, lad, yo’ve got to coom to me 
an’ say, 4 Missis, yo’re to gi’me summat to do my cough 
good.’ Just like that. Can yo remember it ? ” 

“ Ay,” said the lad timidly, looking for the door. 

w Then mind yo do.” 

The lad hurried off glad it was no worse ; Nell accom- 
panied Arthur to the door. The musy languor of her eyes 
was giving place to their usual workaday outlook, seriously 
businesslike. 

u What are you going to do now ? ” said Arthur linger- 
ingly, perhaps hoping for some prolongation of their love- 
idling. 

w I’ve gotten a brede of woats to sew in the New Piece.” 

Arthur’s quick imagination pictured her to him with the 
sunlight among her hair, the wide shallow hopper bound in 
front of her and her skirts shortened. He saw her boldly 
stride across the well-cleaned land ; with a strong free ac- 
tion she swayed her body and tossed her giving hands to 
right, to left, more truly than any poet’s rhythm. He would 
fain have stood and watched her corporeally, near enough 
to see the grey of her eyes as she turned them on him and 
the change of her cheeks. 

“ And what are yo agate on this morning ? ” 

He was roused out of his dream. 

“ First of all I’ve got to pick out a hog for killing ; then 
I shall go down and judge if that low-lying end of Hollow 
Close is in fettle yet for the plough ; then I must ride to 
Johnson the butcher’s to witness the weighing of a bullock, 
and call at the whittaw’s and order a new collar.” 

u Yo might ax him to let uz hae our pad back as soon’s 
he can. What shall yo ride ? ” 


THE LITTLE QUEE CALF 


379 


u Nancy.” 

u She’s a quiet mare,” said Nell with obvious satisfac- 
tion. U I like a bit o’ mettle mysen when I’m out for the 
day ; but I don’t believe i’ doing business on a hurricane.” 

She went round the corner with him, qualified her plain 
w good-morning ” with the addition w love,” watched him 
to the first gate, where he turned and waved his hand for 
the fourth time, then went back purposeful of the day’s 
work. The sunlight possessed already one half of the 
yard, dividing it diagonally with the shade. The pigs 
basked in it with well-fed indolence. Nell felt its warmth 
even under the shadow of the house. 

u An uncommon fine day, miss, for the time o’ year,” 
said Lambert from the barn-door. 

Nell surprised him with the heartiness of her assent. 

“ I think it’s the finest day that ever I seed.” 


CHAPTER XXXV 


THE FULL STOP 

On the foregoing Sunday Josh Jowers had appeared at 
church with a shred of crumpled crape tagged to his hat. 
Left a free man by Posh’s violent death he regularly oc- 
cupied a seat in Lois’s pew, and was ever after less drunk 
and more washed on Sundays than other days. In the fall 
of the year Arthur Skrene married Nell Rideout. In the 
early spring they heard that Tant had sailed for Portugal 
among the numerous drafts dispatched to recruit Welling- 
ton’s army for the impending campaign. But now that 
this book is wearying to a close is not the time to enlarge 
on military adventures. He shared the toils and dangers 
of his regiment in that famous march by the rugged margin 
of the Douro, among the tremendous Pyrenees and the 
swift rivers of France. He wrote his first letter, hopeful 
and ill-spelt, from Tarouca soon after his arrival. 

“ Dear Frends at Home, 

“ By God’s favour we have landed safe on this 
furren shoar. We had a tremendus storm by the way in 
the bay of Bisky witch all but riv the ship a-two. At 
witch being night I boath trembled and admired. Next 
morning we gave the dry land a harty cheer though it was 
nubbut a fow barren rock. Now I long to be on the 
moove. The hills here are bigger than at home and the 
men smaller. How soon we are to march and wheer every 
drummer boy in the army knows, better may be nor the 
Duke himself. Well, the sooner the better. They say 
380 


THE FULL STOP 


381 

the generals of the French army hafe of them were as low 
or lower nor what I am at the start. If you should come 
across Mr. Skrene or Miss Skrene pray mind them that Ime 
there obeedant sarvent. I am granmam and sisters, 

u Yr. duty full granson and affiex. brother, 

“ A. Rideout. 

“ P.S. But doan’t shew this the spelling neads mending 
and I’ve a very bad pen.” 

Nothing more was heard from him until the receipt of a 
letter dated from Ookray (possibly Ircuray) the 2d of 
February of the following year, shortly before the Duke 
made his final thrust at his famous antagonist. 

“ Dear Nell, 

“ So far I am alive by God’s will though in the 
midst of death. I wunner wether you bought Johnson’s 
filly. If the war’s so nigh an end as they say horse flesh 
will drop in vallew. Our ridgment had some sharp work 
at Vitoria. I thought I had much to write but my thoughts 
seem far from my pen. The mountains and rivers in this 
country are a sight to see. It’s a strange thing as a free 
man should be so ready to hopple himself. A hoss would 
have more sense if he had the freedom. I have been made 
sergeant on the field of battle and reduced to the ranks 
again for a hasty word. I care not a hop for that. A 
sergeant here Ime most frendly with and he is a man has 
enjoyed that honnour this twenty year without losing it or 
adding to it. The officers all but one look skew at me. 
It began with my refusing to faight Tom Wild of the 96th 
for ten pounds, which they genrously offered to subscribe. 
Don’t think but what I continue to be prouder of being an 
English private nor a french anything, These Spanyards 


3 82 


FOREST FOLK 


too are a come day go day people. I think that is all. 
The encloased is for Miss Skrene if you should chance on 
an opportunity to give it to her without offense. 

a Your affex. brother, 

“A. Rideout.” 


The following was enclosed : 
u Madam, 

M I entreet pardon for this great libberty. We 
are very short of comfort in this furren land. The weather 
also continews very bad. Thank God I am not in the cav- 
elry else I think these roads ( so they call them ) would 
break my heart. We have fought often and never been 
bet. There is a young leftnent in my company very much 
my frend. Others officers less frendly. I pray every 
night but only ( I trust ) for what it behooves me to pray. 
I have so far been fortunat that I have not been wownded 
save a few trifles. Soon we shall be at it again. God is 
our help and hope. The wimmen of this country are not 
so fair as our English wimmen by much. But the goss 
grows here too. At oppertunity I go and look at it. War 
is a dredfull trade to anybody not born and bred a butcher. 
I have writ more and less than I meant but this is a very 
bad pen. They use cheefly mules which same have sure 
feet but unsure tempers. Now I must conclude or be 
wearysome. 

u Madam, 

“ Your obedient servant to command 

M and prisoner at large, 

“A. Rideout.” 

Over which letters there need no pause, save perhaps for 
a momentary wonder how it was that the “ obeedant sarv- 


THE FULL STOP 383 

ent ” of the first should be so perfectly corrected in the 
last. 

Two months later the final unnecessary battle of Tou- 
louse was fought. There by the bridge of Jumeaux head- 
strong Picton threw away four hundred men of the third 
division, including the colonel of the 45th. In course of 
time Nommer Brooks and Jack Whitehead returned home, 
but Tant Rideout did not return; he had stayed there. 
When the laggard certainty of it arrived Nell kept her own 
tears back and took her husband aside and said : 

w I moot tell Loie alone.” 

Arthur made a look do for many words. 

“ Ay, ’tis so.” 

“ I feared it.” 

“I’ve often wunnered how ’twould end. And now ’tis 
ended.” 

And Sarah Wilkinson had something to say because Lois 
Skrene wore crape of the same depth as the sisters of the 
deceased. 


THE END 




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AUG 28 1901 
















































































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